SETH'S    BROTHER'S  WIFE 


A  STUDY  OF  LIFE  IN  THE  GREATER 
NEW   YORK 


HAROLD    FREDERIC 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1887 


COPYRIGHT,  1886,  1887,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


r 

PS 


TO 
MY    MOTHER 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  HIRED  FOLK i 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  STORY  OF  LEMUEL 7 

CHAPTER  III. 
AUNT  SABRINA 13 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  Two  YOUNG  WOMEN 24 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  FUNERAL 35 

CHAPTER  VI. 
IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  FAMILY 47 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  THREE  BROTHERS 58 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
ALBERT'S  PLANS 70 

CHAPTER  IX. 
AT  "  M'TILDY'S  "  BEDSIDE 78 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  FISHING  PARTY , , , . , 89 


vi  Contents. 


CHAPTER  XL 
ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  WORLD 105 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THS  SANCTUM 119 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
THIRTEEN  MONTHS  OF  IT 132 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
BACK  ON  THE  FARM 143 

CHAPTER  XV. 
MR.  RICHARD  ANSDELL 156 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
DEAR  ISABEL 167 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
AN  UPWARD  LEAP 180 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
BOLTING  THE  TICKET 192 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  WELCOME 203 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  NIGHT  :  THE  BROTHERS 217 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  NIGHT  :  MASTER  AND  MAN 231 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  NIGHT  :  THE  LOVERS 240 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE  CONVENTION  :  THE  Boss 257 


Contents.  vii 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  CONVENTION  :  THE  NEWS 270 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
"You  THOUGHT  I  DID  IT  I  " 283 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  CORONER 295 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ANNIE  AND  ISABEL  . .  ....  308 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
BETWEEN  THE  BREAD-PAN  AND  THE  CHURN 318 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
THE  Boss  LOOKS  INTO  THE  MATTER 330 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
JOHN'S  DELICATE  MISSION 340 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
MILTON'S  ASPIRATIONS 355 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
"  A  WICKED  WOMAN  ! " 369 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
THE  SHERIFF  ASSISTS 379 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
AT  "  M'TILDY'S  "  BEDSIDE  AGAIN 391 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
"SUCH  WOMEN  ARE  !" 399 


SETH'S  BROTHER'S  WIFE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  HIRED  FOLK. 

"  EF  ther'  ain't  a  flare-up  in  this  haouse  'fore  long, 
I  miss  my  guess,"  said  Alvira,  as  she  kneaded  the 
pie-crust,  and  pulled  it  out  between  her  floury  fin- 
gers to  measure  its  consistency.  "  Ole  Sabriny's 
got  her  back  up  this  time  to  stay." 

"  Well,  let  'em  flare,  says  I.  'Taint  none  o'  aour 
business,  Alviry." 

"  I  knaow,  Milton ;  but  still  it  seems  to  me  she 
might  wait  at  least  till  th'  corpse  was  aout  o'  th' 
haouse." 

"  What's  thet  got  to  dew  with  it  ?  " 

The  callousness  of  the  question  must  have  grated 
upon  the  hired-girl,  for  she  made  no  reply,  and 
slapped  the  dough  over  on  the  board  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  fair  day,  late  in  May, 
and  the  reddened  sunlight  from  the  West  would 
have  helped  to  glorify  any  human  being  less  hope- 
lessly commonplace  than  Milton  Squires  as  he  sat 


2  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

in  its  full  radiance  on  the  doorstep,  peeling  and  quar- 
tering apples  over  a  pan  which  he  held  between  his 
knees.  This  sunlight,  to  reach  him,  painted  with 
warm  tints  many  objects  near  at  hand  which  it  could 
not  make  picturesque.  The  three  great  barns, 
standing  in  the  shadow  to  the  south,  were  ricketty 
and  ancient  Avithout  being  comely,  and  the  glare 
only  made  their  awkward  outlines  and  patched, 
paintless  surfaces  the  meaner ;  the  score  of  lean 
cows,  standing  idly  fetlock-deep  in  the  black  mire 
of  the  barnyard,  or  nipping  the  scant  tufts  of  rank 
grass  near  the  trough,  seemed  all  the  dingier  and 
scrawnier  for  the  brilliancy  of  the  light  which  cov- 
ered them ;  the  broken  gate,  the  bars  eked  out  with 
a  hop-pole,  the  wheelbarrow  turned  shiftlessly 
against  a  break  in  the  wall,  the  mildewed  wellcurb, 
with  its  antiquated  reach — all  seemed  in  this  glow 
of  dying  day  to  be  conscious  of  exhibiting  at  its 
worse  their  squalid  side.  The  sunset  could  not  well 
have  illumined,  during  that  hour  at  least,  a  less  in- 
spiring scene  than  this  which  Alvira,  looking  out  as 
she  talked,  or  the  hired  man,  raising  his  head  from 
over  the  apples,  could  see  from  the  kitchen  door  of 
Lemuel  Fairchild's  farm-house.  But  any  student  of 
his  species  would  have  agreed  that,  in  all  the  unin- 
viting view,  Milton  was  the  least  attractive  object. 

As  he  rose  to  empt  his  pan  within,  and  start 
afresh,  he  could  be  seen  more  fully.  He  was  clum- 
sily cased  from  neck  to  ankles  in  brown  over-alls, 
threadbare,  discolored,  patched,  with  mud  about  the 
knees  and  ragged  edges  lower  down.  He  wore  rub- 


The  Hired  Folk.  3 

her  boots,  over  the  bulging  legs  of  which  the  trou- 
sers came  reluctantly,  and  the  huge  feet  of  these 
were  slit  down  the  instep.  His  hat  had  been  soft 
and  black  once ;  now  it  seemed  stiffened  with  dirt, 
to  which  the  afternoon  milking  had  lent  a  new  con- 
tribution of  short  reddish  hair,  and  was  shapeless  and 
colorless  from  age.  His  back  was  narrow  and  bent, 
and  his  long  arms  terminated  in  hands  which  it 
seemed  sinful  to  have  touch  anything  thereafter  to 
be  eaten.  Viewed  from  behind,  Milton  appeared  to 
be  at  least  fifty.  But  his  face  showed  a  somewhat 
younger  man,  despite  its  sun-baked  lines  and  the 
frowzy  beard  which  might  be  either  the  yellow  of 
unkempt  youth  or  the  gray  of  untidy  age.  In  reality 
he  was  not  yet  thirty-six. 

He  slouched  out  now  with  a  fresh  lot  of  apples, 
and,  squatting  on  the  door-stone,  resumed  the  con- 
versation. 

"  I  s'pose  naow  Sissly's  gone,  ther'  won't  be  no 
livin'  under  th'  same  roof  with  Sabriny  fer  any  of 
us.  Ther'  ain't  nobuddy  lef  fer  her  to  rassle  with 
'cep'  us.  Ole  Lemuel's  so  broken-up,  he  won't  dare 
say  his  soul's  his  own  ;  'n  John — well,  Lize  Wilkins  » 
says  she  heerd  him  say  he  didn't  know's  he'd  come 
to  th'  funer'l  't  all,  after  th'  way  him  'n'  Sabriny 
hed  it  aout  las'  time  he  was  here." 

"  I  wasn't  talkin'  o'  tjiem  /  "  said  Alvira,  slapping 
the  flour  from  her  hands  and  beginning  with  the 
roller ;  "  it  'd  be  nothin'  new,  her  tryin'  to  boss  them. 
But  she's  got  her  dander  up  naow  agin  somebuddy 
that  beats  them  all  holler.  They  won't  no  Rich- 


4  Settts  Brothers    Wife. 

ardsons  come  puttin'  on  airs  'raoun'  here,  an'  takin' 
th'  parlor  bedroom  'thaout  askin',  not  ef  th'  ole  lady 
knaows  herself — 'n'  I  guess  she  does." 

"  What  Richardsons  ?  "  asked  Milton.  "  Thought 
Sissly  was  th'  last  of  'em — thet  they  wa'n't  no  more 
Richardsons." 

"  Why,  man  alive,  ain't  Albert's  wife  a  Richard- 
son, th'  daughter  of  Sissly 's  cousin — you  remember, 
that  pock-pitted  man  who  kep'  th'  fast  hoss  here 
one  summer.  Of  course  she's  a  Richardson — full- 
blooded  !  When  she  come  up  from  th'  train  here 
this  mornin',  with  Albert,  I  see  by  th'  ole  lady's 
eye  't  she  meant  misch'f.  I  didn't  want  to  see  no 
raow,  here  with  a  corpse  in  th'  haouse,  'n'  so  I  tried 
to  smooth  matters  over,  'n'  kind  o'  quiet  Sabriny 
daown,  tellin'  her  thet  they  had  to  come  to  th'  fu- 
ner'l,  'n'  they'd  go  'way  soon's  it  was  through  with, 
'n'  that  Albert,  bein'  the  oldest  son,  hed  a  right  to 
th'  comp'ny  bed-room." 

"  'N'  what'd  she  say?" 

"  She  didn't  say  much,  'cep'  thet  th'  Richardsons 
hed  never  brung  nothin'  but  bad  luck  to  this  haouse, 
'n'  they  never  would,  nuther.  'N'  then  she  flaounced 
upstairs  to  her  room,  jis  's  she  allus  does  when  she's 
riled,  'n'  she  give  Albert's  wife  sech  a  look,  I  said  to 
m'self,  '  Milady,  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes  fer  all 
yer  fine  fixin's.'  " 

"  Well,  she's  a  dum  likely  lookin'  woman,  ef  she 
is  a  Richardson,"  said  Milton,  with  something  like 
enthusiasm.  "  Wonder  ef  she  wears  one  o'  them 
low-necked  gaowns  when  she's  to  hum,  like  th' 


The  Hired  Folk.  5 

picters  in  th'  Ledger.  They  say  they  all  dew,  in 
New  York." 

"  Haow  sh'd  I  knaow  !  "  Alvira  sharply  responded. 
"  I  got  enough  things  to  think  of,  'thaout  both'rin* 
my  head  abaout  city  women's  dresses.  'N'  you 
ought  to  hev,  tew.  Ef  you'n'  Leander'd  pay  more 
heed  to  yer  work,  'n'  dew  yer  chores  up  ship-shape, 
V  spen'  less  time  porin'  over  them  good-fer-nothin' 
story-papers,  th'  farm  wouldn't  look  so  run-daown 
'n'  slaouchy.  Did  yeh  hear  what  Albert  said  this 
mornin',  when  he  looked  'raoun'  ?  '  I  swan  ! '  he  said, 
'  I  b'lieve  this  is  th'  seediest  lookin'  place  'n  all 
Northern  New  York.'  Nice  thing  fer  him  to  hev  to 
say,  wa'n't  it !  " 

"What  d'  I  keer  what  he  says?  He  ain't  th'  boss 
here,  by  a  jug-full !  " 

"  'N'  more's  th'  pity,  tew.  He'd  make  yeh  toe 
th'  mark ! " 

"  Yes,  'n'  Sabriny  'd  make  it  lively  fer  his  wife, 
tew.  Th'  ole  fight  'baout  th'  Fairchileses  'n'  th' 
Richardsons  wouldn't  be  a  succumstance  to  thet. 
Sissly  'd  thank  her  stars  thet  she  was  dead  'n'  buried 
aout  o'  th'  way." 

These  two  hired  people,  who  discussed  their  em- 
ployer and  his  family  with  that  easy  familiarity  of 
Christian  names  to  be  found  only  in  Russia  and 
rural  America,  knew  very  well  what  portended  to 
the  house  when  the  Richardson  subject  came  up. 
Alvira  Roberts  had  spent  more  than  twenty  years 
of  her  life  in  the  thick  of  the  gaseous  strife  between 
Fairchild  and  Richardson.  She  was  a  mere  slip  of 


6  SetJis  Brother's   Wife. 

a  girl,  barely  thirteen,  when  she  had  first  hired  out 
at  the  homestead,  and  now,  black-browed,  sallow 
from  much  tea-drinking,  and  with  a  sharp,  deep 
wrinkle  vertically  dividing  her  high  forehead,  she 
looked  every  year  of  her  thirty-five.  Compared 
with  her,  Milton  Squires  was  a  new  comer  on  the 
farm,  but  still  there  were  lean  old  cows  over  yonder 
in  the  barnyard,  lazily  waiting  for  the  night-march 
to  the  pastures,  that  had  been  ravenous  calves  in 
their  gruel-bucket  stage  when  he  came. 

What  these  two  did  not  know  about  the  Fairchild 
family  was  hardly  worth  the  knowing.  Something 
of  what  they  knew,  the  reader  ought  here  to  be  told. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE   STORY  OF  LEMUEL. 

LEMUEL  FAIRCHILD,  the  bowed,  gray-haired, 
lumpish  man  who  at  this  time  sat  in  the  main  living 
room  within,  feebly  rocking  himself  by  the  huge 
wood-stove,  and  trying  vaguely  as  he  had  been  for 
thirty-six  hours  past,  to  realize  that  his  wife  lay  in 
her  final  sleep  in  the  adjoining  chamber,  had  forty- 
odd  years  before  been  as  likely  a  young  farmer  as 
Dearborn  County  knew.  He  was  fine-looking  and 
popular  in  those  days,  and  old  Seth  Fairchild,  dying 
unexpectedly,  had  left  to  this  elder  son  his  whole 
possessions — six  hundred  acres  of  dairy  and  hop  land, 
free  and  clear,  a  residence  much  above  the  average 
farm-house  of  these  parts,  and  a  tidy  sum  of  money 
in  the  bank. 

The  contrast  now  was  sweeping.  The  Fairchild's 
house  was  still  the  largest  residential  structure  on 
the  Burfield  road,  which  led  from  Thessaly  across 
the  hills  to  remote  and  barbarous  latitudes,  but  re- 
spect had  long  since  ceased  to  accrue  to  it  upon  the 
score  of  its  size.  To  the  local  eye,  it  was  the  badge 
and  synonym  of  "  rack  and  ruin  ;  "  while  sometimes 
strangers  of  artistic  tastes,  chancing  to  travel  by  this 
unfrequented  road,  would  voice  regrets  that  such  a 


8  Settts  Brothers    Wife. 

prospect  as  opened  to  the  vision  just  here,  with  the 
noble  range  of  hills  behind  for  the  first  time  looming 
in  their  true  proportions,  should  be  spoiled  by  such 
a  gaunt,  unsightly  edifice,  with  its  tumble-down  sur- 
roundings, its  staring  windows  cheaply  curtained 
with  green  paper,  and  its  cheerless,  shabby  color — 
that  indescribable  gray  with  which  rain  and  frost  and 
Father  Time  supplant  unrenewed  white.  The  gar- 
den, comprising  a  quarter-acre  to  the  east  of  the 
house,  was  a  tangled  confusion  of  flowers  and  weeds 
and  berry-bushes  run  wild,  yet  the  effect  somehow 
was  mean  rather  than  picturesque.  The  very  grass 
in  the  yard  to  the  west  did  not  grow  healthfully,  but 
revealed  patches  of  sandy  barrenness,  created  by  feet 
too  indifferent  or  unruly  to  keep  the  path  to  the 
barns. 

Yet  the  neighbors  said,  and  Lemuel  had  come 
himself  to  feel,  that  the  blame  of  this  sad  falling  off 
•  \vas  not  fairly  his.  There  had  been  a  fatal  defect  in 
the  legacy. 

The  one  needful  thing  which  the  Hon.  Seth  Fair- 
child  did  not  leave  his  elder  son  was  the  brains  by 
means  of  which  he  himself,  in  one  way  or  another, 
had  gathered  together  a  substantial  competency, 
won  two  elections  to  the  State  Senate,  and  estab- 
lished and  held  for  himself  the  position  of  leading 
citizen  in  his  town — that  most  valued  and  intangible 
of  American  local  distinctions.  But  while  Lemuel's 
brown  hair  curled  so  prettily,  and  his  eyes  shone 
with  the  modest  light  of  wealthy  and  well-behaved 
youth,  nobody  missed  the  brains.  If  there  was  any 


Tke  Story  of  Lemuel.  9 

change  in  the  management  of  the  farm,  it  passed  un- 
noticed, for  all  attention  was  centred  on  the  great 
problem,  interesting  enough  always  when  means  seeks 
a  help-meet,  but  indescribably  absorbing  in  rural  com- 
munities, where  everybody  knows  everybody  and 
casual  gallants  never  come  for  those  luckless  damsels 
neglected  by  native  swains — Whom  will  he  marry  ? 

It  boots  not  now  to  recall  the  heart-burnings,  the 
sad  convictions  thaHife  would  henceforth  be  a  blank, 
the  angry  repinings  at  fate,  which  desolated  the  vil- 
lage of  Thessaly  and  vicinity  when  Lemuel,  return- 
ing from  a  mid-winter  visit  to  Albany,  brought  a 
bride  in  the  person  of  a  bright  eyed,  handsome  and 
clever  young  lady  who  had  been  Miss  Cicely  Rich- 
ardson. He  had  known  her,  so  they  learned,  for 
some  years — not  only  during  his  school-days  at  the 
Academy  there,  but  later,  in  what  was  mysteriously 
known  in  Thessaly  as  "  society,"  in  whose  giddy 
mazes  he  had  mingled  while  on  a  visit  to  his  legisla- 
tive sire  at  the  Capital  City.  No,  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  dwell  upon  the  village  hopes  rudely  de- 
stroyed by  this  shock — for  they  are  dim  memories 
of  the  far,  far  past. 

But  to  one  the  blow  was  a  disappointment  not  to 
be  forgotten,  or  to  grow  dim  in  recollection.  Miss 
Sabrina  Fairchild  was  two  years  younger  than  her 
brother  in  age — a  score  of  years  his  senior  in  firmness 
and  will.  She  had  only  a  small  jointure  in  her  father's 
estate,  because  she  had  great  expectations  from  an 
aunt  in  Ohio,  in  perpetual  memory  of  whose  antic- 
ipated bounty  she  bore  her  scriptural  name,  but  she 


io  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

was  a  charge  on  her  brother  in  that  she  was  to  have 
a  home  with  him  until  she  chose  to  leave  it  for  one 
of  her  own.  I  doubt  not  that  her  sagacious  father 
foresaw,  from  his  knowledge  of  his  daughter,  the  im- 
probability that  this  second  home  would  ever  be 
offered  her. 

Miss  Sabrina,  even  at  this  tender  age,  was  clearly 
not  of  the  marrying  kind,  and  she  grew  less  so  with 
great  steadiness.  She  was  at  this  early  date,  when 
she  was  twenty-four,  a  woman  of  markedly  strong 
character,  of  which  perhaps  the  most  distinct  trait 
was  family  pride. 

There  has  been  a  considerable  army  of  State  Sen- 
ators since  New  York  first  took  on  the  honors  of  a 
Commonwealth,  and  unto  them  a  great  troop  of 
daughters  have  been  born,  but  surely  no  other  of  all 
these  girls  ever  exulted  so  fondly,  nay,  fiercely,  in  the 
paternal  dignity  as  did  Sabrina.  She  knew  nothing 
of  politics,  and  little  of  the  outside  world  ;  her  con- 
ceptions of  social  possibilities  were  of  the  most 
primitive  sort ;  one  winter,  when  she  went  to  Albany 
with  her  father,  and  was  passed  in  a  bewildered 
way  through  sundry  experiences  said  to  be  of  a 
highly  fashionable  nature,  it  had  been  temporarily 
apparent  to  her  own  consciousness  that  she  was  an 
awkward,  ignorant,  red-armed  country-girl — but  this 
only  for  one  wretched  hour  or  so.  Every  mile-post 
passed  on  her  homeward  ride,  as  she  looked  through 
the  stage  window,  brought  restored  self-confidence, 
and  long  before  the  tedious  journey  ended  she  was 
more  the  Senator's  daughter  than  ever. 


The  Story  of  Lemuel.  n 

Through  this  very  rebound  from  mortification  she 
queened  it  over  the  simpler  souls  of  the  village  with 
renewed  severity  and  pomp.  The  itinerant  singing 
master  who  thought  to  get  her  for  the  asking  into 
his  class  in  the  school-house  Wednesday  evenings, 
was  frozen  by  the  amazed  disdain  of  her  refusal. 
When  young  Smith  Thurber,  the  kiln-keeper's  son, 
in  the  flippant  spirit  of  fine  buttons  and  a  resplen- 
dent fob,  asked  her  to  dance  a  measure  with  him  at 
the  Wallaces'  party,  the  iciness  of  her  stare  fairly 
took  away  his  breath. 

Something  can  be  guessed  of  her  emotions  when 
the  brother  brought  home  his  bride.  With  a  half- 
cowardly,  half-kindly  idea  of  postponing  the  trouble 
certain  to  ensue,  he  had  given  Sabrina  no  warning 
of  his  intention,  and,  through  the  slow  mails  of  that 
date,  only  a  day's  advance  notice  of  his  return  with 
Mrs.  Lemuel.  The  storm  did  not  burst  at  once. 
Indeed  it  may  be  said  never  to  have  really  burst. 
Sabrina  was  not  a  bad  woman,  according  to  her 
lights,  and  she  did  nothing  consciously  to  make  her 
sister-in-law  unhappy.  The  young  wife  had  a  light 
heart,  a  sensible  mind  and  the  faculty  of  being 
cheerful  about  many  things  which  might  be  ex- 
pected to  annoy.  But  she  had  some  pride,  too,  and 
although  at  the  outset  it  was  the  very  simple  and 
praiseworthy  pride  of  a  well-meaning  individual,  in- 
cessant vaunting  of  the  Fairchilds  quite  naturally 
gave  a  family  twist  to  it,  and  she  soon  was  able  to 
resent  slights  in  the  name  of  all  the  Richardsons. 

After  all,  was  she  not  in  the  right  ?  for  while  the 


12  Settts  Brothers  Wife. 

grass  was  scarcely  green  on  the  grave  of  the  first 
Fairchild  who  had  amounted  to  anything,  there 
were  six  generations  of  Richardsons  in  Albany 
chronicles  alone  who  had  married  into  the  best 
Dutch  families  of  that  ancient,  aristocratic  town,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  New  England  record  antedating 
that  period.  Thus  the  case  appeared  to  her,  and 
came  gradually  to  have  more  prominence  in  her 
mind  than,  in  her  maiden  days,  she  could  have 
thought  possible. 

So  this  great  Forty  Years'  War  began,  in  which 
there  was  to  be  no  single  grand,  decisive  engage- 
ment, but  a  thousand  petty  skirmishes  and  little 
raids,  infinitely  more  vexatious  and  exhausting,  and 
was  waged  until  the  weaker  of  the  combatants, 
literally  worn  out  in  the  fray,  had  laid  down  her 
arms  and  her  life  together,  and  was  at  peace  at  last, 
under  the  sheet  in  the  darkened  parlor. 

The  other  veteran  party  to  the  feud,  her  thin, 
iron-gray  hair  half  concealed  under  a  black  knit  cap, 
her  bold,  sharp  face  red  as  with  stains  of  tears,  sat 
at  the  window  of  her  own  upper  room,  reading  her 
Bible.  If  Milton  and  Alvira  had  known  that  she 
was  reading  in  Judges,  they  might  have  been  even 
more  confident  of  a  coming  "  flare-up." 


CHAPTER   III. 

AUNT    SABRINA. 

NEIGHBORING  philosophers  who  cared,  from  curi- 
osity or  a  loftier  motive,  to  study  the  Fairchild 
domestic  problem,  in  all  its  social  and  historic 
ramifications,  generally  emerged  from  the  inquiry 
with  some  personal  bias  against  Miss  Sabrina,  tem- 
pered by  the  conclusion  that,  after  all,  there  was 
a  good  deal  to  be  said  on  the  old  lady's  side. 

Certainly,  as  the  grim  old  maid  in  the  rusty  bom- 
bazine gown  and  cap,  which  gave  a  funereal  air  even 
to  the  red  plaid  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  sat  at  her 
upper  window,  and  tried  through  a  pained  and  re- 
sentful chaos  of  secular  thoughts  to  follow  the  Scrip- 
tural lines,  there  was  an  extremely  vivid  conviction 
uppermost  in  her  mind  that  justice  had  been  meted 
out  neither  to  her  nor  to  the  Fairchilds.  She  would 
have  repelled  indignantly,  and  honestly  enough  too, 
the  charge  that  there  was  any  bitterness  in  her  heart 
toward  the  sister-in-law  whose  burial  was  appointed 
for  the  morrow.  She  had  liked  poor  Cicely,  in  her 
iron-clad  way,  and  had  wept  genuine  tears  more  than 
once  since  her  death.  Indeed,  her  thoughts — and 
they  were  persistent,  self-asserting  thoughts  which 
not  even  her  favorite  recital  of  Gideon's  sanguinary 


14  Settis  Brother  s   Wife. 

triumph  could  keep  back — ran  more  upon  the  living 
than  upon  the  dead. 

And  what  gloomy,  melancholy  thoughts  they 
were !  They  swept  over  two  score  of  years,  the 
whole  gamut  of  emotion,  from  the  pride  and  hope 
of  youth  to  the  anguish  of  disappointed,  wrathful, 
hopeless  old  age,  as  her  hand  might  cover  all  there 
was  of  sound  in  music  by  a  run  down  her  mother's 
ancient  spinet  which  stood,  mute  and  forgotten,  in 
the  corner  of  the  room.  Her  brother,  this  brother 
whom  satirical  fate  had  made  a  Lemuel  instead  of  a 
Lucy  or  a  Lucretia,  a  man  instead  of  a  woman  as 
befitted  his  weakness  of  mind  and  spirit — had  begun 
life  with  a  noble  heritage.  Where  was  it  now  ?  He 
had  been  the  heir  to  a  leading  position  among  the 
men  of  his  county.  What  was  he  now  ?  The  Fair- 
childs  had  been  as  rich,  as  respected,  as  influential 
as  any  Dearborn  family.  Who  did  them  honor  now  ? 

The  mental  answers  to  these  questions  blurred 
Miss  Sabrina's  spectacles  with  tears,  and  Gideon's 
performance  with  the  lamps  seemed  a  tiresome 
thing.  She  laid  the  Book  aside,  and  went  softly 
down  stairs  to  her  brother,  who  sat,  still  rocking  in 
his  late  wife's  high,  cushioned  arm-chair,  disconso- 
late by  the  stove. 

There  were  also  in  the  room  his  oldest  son  and 
this  son's  wife,  sitting  dumbly,  each  at  a  window, 
making  a  seemly  pretence  of  not  being  bored  by  the 
meagre  prospect  without.  They  looked  at  their 
aunt  in  that  far-off  impassive  manner  with  which 
participants  in  a  high  pageant  or  solemn  observance 


Aunt  Sabrina.  15 

always  regard  one  another.  There  was  no  call  for  a 
greeting,  since  they  had  already  exchanged  whis- 
pered salutations,  earlier  in  the  day.  Miss  Sabrina 
glanced  at  the  young  wife  for  an  instant — it  was  not 
a  kindly  glance.  Then  her  eyes  turned  to  the  hus- 
band, and  while  surveying  him  seemed  suddenly  to 
light  up  with  some  new  thought.  She  almost  smiled, 
and  her  tight  pressed  lips  parted.  Had  they  fol- 
lowed the  prompting  of  the  brain  and  spoken,  the 
words  would  have  been  : 

"  Thank  God,  there  is  still  Albert ! " 

Albert  Fairchild  would  have  been  known  in  any 
company,  and  in  any  guise,  I  think,  for  a  lawyer. 
The  profession  had  its  badge  in  every  line  and  as- 
pect of  his  face,  in  every  movement  of  his  head,  and, 
so  it  seemed,  in  the  way  he  held  his  hands,  in  the 
very  tone  of  his  voice.  His  face  was  round,  and 
would  have  been  pleasant,  so  far  as  conformation 
and  expression  went,  had  it  not  been  for  the  eyes, 
which  were  unsympathetic,  almost  cold.  Often  the 
rest  of  his  countenance  was  wreathed  in  amiable 
smiles  ;  but  the  eyes  smiled  never.  He  had  looked 
a  middle-aged  man  for  a  decade  back,  and  casual 
acquaintances  who  met  him  from  year  to  year  com- 
plimented him  on  not  growing  old,  because  they 
saw  no  change.  In  fact  he  had  been  old  from  the 
beginning,  and  even  now  looked  more  than  his  age, 
which  lacked  some  few  months  of  forty.  He  was 
growing  bald  above  the  temples,  and,  like  all  the 
Fairchilds,  was  taking  on  flesh  with  increasing  years. 

Nothing  could  have  better  shown  the  extremity 


1 6  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

of  poor  Sabrina's  woe  than  this  clutching  at  the  re- 
lief afforded  by  the  sight  of  Albert,  for  she  was  not 
on  good  terms  with  him.  Albert  had  been  born  and 
reared  through  boyhood  at  a  time  when  the  farm 
was  still  prosperous  and  money  plenty.  He  had 
been  educated  far  beyond  the  traditions  of  his  sires, 
and  was  the  first  University  man  of  his  family,  so 
far  as  was  known.  He  had  been  given  his  own  bent 
in  all  things,  before  he  settled  down  to  a  choice  of 
profession,  and  then,  at  considerable  expense,  had 
been  secured  a  place  with  one  of  the  greatest  legal 
firms  in  New  York  City.  For  years  the  first  fruits 
of  the  soil,  the  cream  off  all  the  milk — so  the  Aunt's 
mingled  scriptural  and  dairy  metaphors  ran — had 
been  his.  And  what  return  had  they  had  for  it  ?  He 
had  become  a  sound,  successful  lawyer,  with  a  hand- 
some income,  and  he  had  married  wealth  as  well. 
Yet  year  after  year,  as  the  fortunes  of  the  Fairchild 
homestead  declined,  he  had  never  interfered  to  pre- 
vent the  fresh  mortgage  being  placed — nay,  had 
more  than  once  explicitly  declined  to  help  save  it. 

"  Agriculture  is  out  of  date  in  this  State,"  she  had 
heard  him  say  once,  with  her  own  ears,  "  Better  let 
the  old  people  live  on  their  capital,  as  they  go  along. 
It's  no  use  throwing  good  money  after  bad.  Farm 
land  here  in  the  East  is  bound  to  decrease  in  value, 
steadily." 

This  about  the  homestead — about  the  cradle  of 
his  ancestors!  Poor  old  lady,  had  the  Fairchilds 
been  sending  baronial  roots  down  through  all  this 
soil  for  a  thousand  years,  she  couldn't  have  been 


Aunt  Sabrina.  17 

more  pained  or  mortified  over  Albert's  callous  view 
of  the  farm  which  her  grandfather,  a  revolted  cob- 
bler from  Rhode  Island,  had  cleared  and  paid  for  at 
ten  cents  an  acre. 

Then  there  was  his  marriage,  too.  In  all  the  years 
of  armed  neutrality  or  tacit  warfare  which  she  and 
Cicely  had  passed  together  under  one  roof,  they  had 
never  before  or  since  come  so  near  an  open  and  pal- 
pable rupture  as  they  did  over  a  city-bred  cousin  of 
Cicely's — a  forward,  impertinent,  ill-behaved  girl 
from  New  York,  who  had  come  to  the  farm  on  a  visit 
some  ten  years  before,  and  whose  father  was  sum- 
moned at  last  to  take  her  away  because  otherwise 
she,  Sabrina,  threatened  to  herself  leave  the  house. 
There  had  been  a  desperate  scene  before  this  con- 
clusion was  reached.  Sabrina  had  stormed  and 
threatened  to  shake  the  dust  of  the  homestead  from 
off  her  outraged  sandals.  Cicely  for  the  once  had 
stood  her  ground,  and  said  she  fancied  even  worse 
things  than  that  might  happen  without  producing 
a  universal  cataclysm.  Lemuel  had  almost  wept 
with  despair  over  the  tumult.  The  two  older  boys, 
particularly  John,  had  not  concealed  their  exuber- 
ant hope  that  their  maiden  Aunt  might  be  taken  at 
her  word,  and  allowed  to  leave.  And  the  girl  her- 
self, this  impudent  huzzy  of  a  Richardson,  actually 
put  her  spoke  in  too,  and  said  things  about  old  cats 
and  false  teeth,  which  it  made  Sabrina's  blood  still 
boil  to  recall. 

And  it  was  this  girl,  of  all  others  in  the  world, 
whom  Albert  must  go  and  marry  ! 


1 8  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

Yet  Sabrina,  in  her  present  despondent  mood,  felt 
herself  able  to  rise  above  mere  personal  piques  and 
dislikes,  if  there  really  was  a  hope  for  the  family's 
revival.  She  was  not  very  sanguine  about  even 
Albert,  but  beyond  him  there  was  no  chance  at 
all. 

John,  the  second  brother,  had  talent  enough,  she 
supposed.  People  said  he  was  smart,  and  he  must 
be,  else  he  could  scarcely  have  come  in  his  twenty- 
eighth  year  to  be  owner  and  editor  of  the  Thessaly 
Banner  of  Liberty,  and  put  in  all  those  political 
pieces,  written  in  the  first  person  plural,  as  if  he  had 
the  power  of  attorney  for  all  Dearborn  county.  But 
then  he  was  mortally  shiftless  about  money  matters, 
and  they  did  say  that  since  his  wife's  death — a  mere 
school-teacher  she  had  been — he  had  become  quite 
dissipated  and  played  billiards.  Besides  she  was  at 
open  feud  with  him,  and  never,  never  would  speak 
to  him  again,  the  longest  day  he  lived !  So  that 
settled  John. 

As  for  Seth,  the  youngest  of  the  brothers,  it  is  to 
be  doubted  if  she  would  have  thought  of  him  at  all, 
had  he  not  come  in  at  the  moment.  He  had  been 
down  to  the  village  to  get  some  black  clothes  which 
the  tailor  had  constructed  on  short  notice  for  him, 
and  he,  too,  passed  through  the  sitting  room  to  the 
stairs  with  the  serious  look  and  the  dead  silence 
which  the  awful  presence  imposes. 

Then  she  did  think  of  him  for  a  moment,  as  she 
stood  warming  her  fingers  over  the  bald,  flat  top  of 
the  stove — for  though  bright  and  warm  enough  out- 


Aunt  Sabrina.  19 

side,  the  air  was  still  chilly  in  these  great  barns  of 
rooms. 

Seth  was  indisputably  the  handsomest  of  all  the 
Fairchilds,  even  handsomer  than  she  remembered 
his  father  to  have  been — a  tall,  straight,  broad- 
shouldered  youth,  who  held  his  head  well  up  and 
looked  everybody  in  the  face  with  honest  hazel  eyes. 
He  had  the  Richardson  complexion,  a  dusky  tint 
gained  doubtless  from  all  those  Dutch  intermar- 
riages of  which  poor  Cicely  used  to  make  so  much, 
but  his  brown  hair  curled  much  as  Lemuel's  used  to 
curl,  only  not  so  effeminately,  and  his  temper  was  as 
even  as  his  father's  had  been,  though  not  so  submis- 
sive or  weak.  His  hands  were  rough  and  coarse 
from  the  farm  work,  and  his  walk  showed  familiarity 
with  ploughed  ground,  but  still  he  had,  in  his  way, 
a  more  distinguished  air  than  either  Albert  or  John 
had  ever  had. 

Looking  him  over,  a  stranger  would  have  been 
surprised  that  his  aunt  should  have  left  him  out  of 
her  thoughts  of  the  family's  future — or  that,  once 
pausing  to  consider  him,  she  should  have  dropped 
the  idea  so  swiftly.  But  so  it  was.  Miss  Sabrina 
felt  cold  and  aggrieved  toward  Albert,  and  she  came 
as  near  hating  John  as  a  deeply  devout  woman 
safely  could.  She  simply  took  no  account  of  Seth 
at  all,  as  she  would  have  expressed  it.  To  her  he 
was  a  quiet,  harmless  sort  of  youngster,  who  worked 
prettily  steadily  on  the  farm,  and  got  on  civilly  with 
people.  She  understood  that  he  was  very  fond  of 
reading,  but  that  made  no  special  impression  on  her. 


20  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

If  she  had  been  asked,  she  would  undoubtedly  have 
said  that  Seth  was  her  favorite  nephew — but  she 
had  never  dreamed  of  regarding  him  as  a  possible 
restorer  of  the  family  glories. 

"  Is  yer  oven  hot  enough?  "she  asked  Alvira  in 
the  kitchen,  a  minute  later.  "If  they's  anything  I 
dew  hate,  it's  a  soggy  undercrust." 

"  I  guess  I  kin  manage  a  batch  o'  pies  by  this 
time,"  returned  the  hired-girl  with  a  sniff.  Through 
some  unexplained  process  of  reasoning,  Alvira  was 
with  the  Fairchilds  as  against  the  Richardsons,  but 
she  was  first  of  all  for  herself,  against  the  whole 
human  race. 

"  Milton  gone  aout  with  the  caows  ?  "  asked  the 
old  lady,  ignoring  for  the  once  the  domestic's  chal- 
lenge. "  When  he  comes  back,  he  V  Leander  bet- 
ter go  over  to  Wilkinses,  and  get  what  chairs  they 
kin  spare.  I  s'pose  there'll  be  a  big  craowd,  ef 
only  to  git  in  and  see  if  there's  any  holes  in  our 
body-Brussels  yit,  'n'  haow  that  sofy-backed  set  in 
the  parlor's  holdin'  out.  Poor  Cicely !  I  think  they 
better  bring  over  the  chairs  tonight,  after  dusk. 
What  people  don't  see  they  can't  talk  abaout." 

"  Heard  Milton  say  he  was  goin'  to  borrer  some 
over  at  Warren's,"  remarked  Alvira,  in  a  casual  way, 
but  looking  around  to  see  how  the  idea  affected 
Miss  Sabrina. 

"  Well  he  jis'  won't ! "  came  the  answer,  very 
promptly  and  spiritedly.  "If  every  mortal  soul  of 
'em  hes  to  stan'  up,  he  won't !  I  guess  Lemuel 
Fairchild's  wife  can  be  buried  'thaout  asking  any 


Aunt  Sabrina.  21 

help  from  Matildy  Warren.  I  wouldn't  ask  her  if 
'twas  th'  las'  thing  I  ever  did." 

"  But  Annie  sent  word  she  was  comin'  over  fus' 
thing  in  th'  mornin',  so's  to  help  clear  up  th'  break- 
fast things.  If  she's  good  enough  fer  that,  I  don't 
see  why  you  need  be  afeered  o'  borryin'  her 
chairs." 

"They  ain't  her  chairs,  and  you  knaow  it,  Alviry. 
I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say  agin'  Annie  Fairchild,  but 
when  it  comes  to  her  gran'  mother,  I  kin  ride  a  high 
horse  as  well's  she  kin.  After  all  the  trouble  she 
made  my  family,  the  sight  of  a  single  stick  of  her 
furnitur'  here  'd  be  enough  to  bring  the  rafters  of 
this  haouse  daown  over  my  head,  I  do  believe  !  " 

"  Well,  of  course,  'tain't  none  o'  my  business,  but 
seems  to  me  there'll  be  a  plaguey  slim  fun'r'l  when 
your  turn  comes  if  you're  goin'  to  keep  up  all  these 
old-woman's  fights  with  everybody  'raound  abaout." 

"  Naow  Alviry ! "  began  Miss  Sabrina,  in  her 
shrillest  and  angriest  tone  ;  then  with  a  visible  ef- 
fort, as  if  remembering  something,  she  paused  and 
then  went  on  in  a  subdued,  almost  submissive  voice, 
"You  knaow  jis'  haow  Matildy  Warren's  used  us. 
From  the  very  day  my  poor  brother  William  ran  off 
with  her  Jenny — and  goodness  knaows  whatever 
possessed  him  to  dew  it — thet  old  woman's  never 
missed  a  chance  to  run  us  all  daown — ez  ef  she 
oughtn't  to  been  praoud  o'  th'  day  a  Fairchild  took 
up  with  a  Warren." 

"Guess  you  ain't  had  none  the  wu'st  of  it,"  put 
in  Alvira,  with  sarcasm.  "  Guess  your  tongue's 


22  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

'baout  as  sharp  as  her'n  ever  was.  B'sides  she's 
bed-ridden  naow,  'n'  everybody  thought  she  wouldn't 
get  threw  th'  spring.  'N'  ef  Seth's  goin'  to  make 
up  to  Annie,  you  ought  to  begin  to  smooth  things 
over  'fore  she  dies.  There's  no  tellin'  but  what  she 
mightn't  leave  the  farm  away  f'm  th'  girl  at  th'  last 
minute,  jis'  to  spite  you." 

"  Yeh  needn't  talk  as  if  /  wanted  her  pesky  farm !  " 

"  Oh,  well  now,  you  knaow  what  I  mean  's  well 's  I 
dew.  What's  th'  use  o'  harpin'  on  what  yer  broth- 
er William  did,  or  what  ole  Matildy  said,  'fore  I 
was  born,  when  you  knaow  th'  tew  farms  jine,  and 
yer  heart's  sot  on  havin'  'em  in  one — Yes,  'fore  I 
was  born,"  repeated  the  domestic,  as  if  pleased  with 
the  implication  of  juvenility. 

Miss  Sabrina  hesitated,  and  looked  at  Alvira  med- 
itatively through  her  spectacles,  in  momentary 
doubt  about  the  propriety  of  saying  a  sharp  thing 
under  all  the  circumstances  ;  but  the  temptation 
was  not  to  be  resisted.  "  'N'  you  ain't  percisely 
a  chicken  yourself,  Alviry,"  she  said  and  left  the 
kitchen. 

Later,  when  Milton  had  returned  from  the  pas- 
ture, and  hung  about  the  kitchen,  mending  the  har- 
ness that  went  with  the  democrat-wagon  while 
waiting  for  Leander  to  return  from  the  cheese  fac- 
tory, Alvira  remarked  : 

"  Seems  'if  Sabriny  'd  lost  all  her  sper't  this  last 
day  or  tew.  Never  see  sech  a  change.  She  don't 
answer  up  wuth  a  cent.  I  shouldn't  be  s'prised  if 
she  didn't  tackle  Albert's  wife  after  all.  Oh  yes,  'n' 


Aunt  Sabrina.  23 

you  ain't  to  go  to  Warren's  for  them  chairs.  Sa- 
briny's  dead-set  agin  that." 

"  What's  up  ?  "  asked  Milton,  "  Hez  Seth  broke 
off  with  Annie  ?  " 

"  Don't  knaow's  they  ever  was  anything  particular 
to  break  off.  No,  't  'aint  that ;  it's  the  same  raow 
'tween  the  two  ole  women.  Goodness  knaows,  I'm 
sick  'n'  tired  of  hearin'  'baout  it." 

"  No,  but  ain't  Seth  'n'  Annie  fixed  it  up  ?  "  per- 
sisted Milton  ;  "  Daown't  th'  corners  they  say  it's 
all  settled."  Then  he  mutteringly  added,  as  he 
slouched  out  to  meet  Leander,  who  drove  up  now 
with  a  great  rattle  of  empty  milk-cans.  "  I  wish't  / 
was  in  Seth's  shoes." 

"  Oh,  you  dew,  dew  yeh !  "  said  Alvira,  thus  left 
to  herself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  TWO   YOUNG  WOMEN. 

THE  young  girl  whose  future  had  been  settled 
down  at  the  corners,  came  along  the  road  next 
morning  toward  the  Fairchild  house,  all  unconscious 
of  her  destiny.  She  lived  in  a  small,  old-fashioned 
farm-dwelling  back  in  the  fields,  alone  with  her 
grandmother,  and  although  there  was  a  bitter  feud 
between  the  heads  of  the  two  houses,  it  had  not 
stopped  her  from  being  a  familiar  and  helpful  figure 
in  her  uncle's  homestead. 

Annie  Fairchild  was  a  country  girl  in  some  senses 
of  the  term,  calm-faced,  clear-eyed,  self-reliant  among 
her  friends,  but  with  a  curious  disposition  toward 
timidity  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  She  was 
held  to  be  too  serious  and  "  school-ma'am-ish  "  for 
pleasant  company  by  most  rural  maidens  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, and  the  few  attempts  of  young  farmers 
of  the  country-side  to  establish  friendly  relations 
with  her  had  not  been  crowned  with  conspicuous  suc- 
cess. It  could  scarcely  be  said  that  she  was  haughty 
or  cold ;  no  one  could  demonstrate  in  detail  that 
her  term  of  schooling  in  a  far-off  citified  seminary 
had  made  her  proud  or  uncivil ;  but  still  she  had  no 
intimates. 


The   Two   Young  Women.  25 

This  was  the  more  marked  from  the  fact  that  she 
was  a  pretty  girl — or  if  not  precisely  pretty,  very 
attractive  and  winning  in  face.  No  other  girl  of  the 
neighborhood  had  so  fine  and  regular  a  profile,  or 
such  expressive,  dark  eyes,  or  so  serenely  intelligent 
an  expression.  It  had  been  whispered  at  one  time 
that  Reuben  Tracy,  the  school-master,  was  likely  to 
make  a  match  of  it  with  her,  but  this  had  faded 
away  again  as  a  rootless  rumor  ;  by  this  time  every- 
body on  the  Burfield  road  tacitly  understood  that 
eventually  she  was  to  be  the  wife  of  her  cousin 
Seth,  when  it  "  came  time  for  the  two  farms  to 
join."  And  she  had  grown  accustomed  long  since 
to  the  furtive,  half-awed,  half-covetous  look  which 
men  cast  upon  her,  without  suspecting  the  spirit  of 
reluctant  renunciation  underlying  it. 

She  met  Milton  Squires  on  the  road,  close  in  front 
of  the  Fairchild's  house,  this  morning,  and,  nodding 
to  him,  passed  on.  She  did  not  particularly  note 
the  gaze  he  bent  upon  her  as  she  went  by,  and 
which  followed  her  afterward,  almost  to  the  Fair- 
child  gate.  If  she  had  done  so,  and  could  have  read 
all  its  meaning,  she  would  not  have  gone  on  with 
so  unruffled  a  face,  for  it  was  a  look  to  frighten  an 
honest  young  woman — an  intent,  hungry,  almost 
wolfish  look,  unrelieved  by  so  much  as  a  glimmer  of 
the  light  of  manliness. 

But  she  was  alike  unconscious  of  his  thoughts  and 
of  the  gossip  he  had  heard  at  the  corners.  Certainly 
no  listener  who  followed  her  to  the  gate,  where  she 
encountered  Seth  at  work  screwing  on  a  new  hinge, 


26  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

would  have  gathered  from  the  tone  or  words  of  the 
greeting  on  either  side  any  testimony  to  confirm 
the  common  supposition  that  they  were  destined 
for  each  other. 

"  Good  morning,  Seth,"  she  said,  halting  while  he 
dragged  the  great  gate  open  for  her,  "you're  all 
through  breakfast,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  Albert  and  his  wife  are  at  the  table 
still.  We  didn't  call  them  when  the  rest  got  up, 
you  know.  They're  not  used  to  country  ways." 

"  Anybody  else  here  ?  " 

"No,  except  John." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  he  came.  That  Lize  Wilkins 
has  been  telling  everybody  he  wouldn't  come  on 
Sabrina's  account.  And  it  would  have  looked  so 
bad." 

"Yes,  Lize  Wilkins  talks  too  much.  All  John 
ever  said  was  that  he  wouldn't  stay  here  in  the 
house  any  more  than  he  could  help.  It's  too  bad  he 
can't  get  along  better  with  Aunt ;  it  would  make 
things  so  much  pleasanter." 

"  How's  your  father,  Seth  ?  He  seemed  at  first 
to  take  it  pretty  hard." 

"  He  appeared  a  little  brighter  yesterday,  after 
Albert  came,  but  he's  very  poorly  this  morning. 
Poor  old  man,  it  makes  a  sad  difference  with  him — 
more  I  suppose  than  with  us  boys,  even  with  me, 
who  never  have  been  away  from  her  hardly  for  a 
day." 

"  Yes,  Seth,  a  boy  outgrows  his  mother,  I  sup- 
pose, but  for  an  old  couple  who  have  lived  together 


The   Two   Young  Women,  27 

forty  years  a  separation  like  this  must  be  awful.  I 
shall  go  up  to  the  house  now." 

Seth  followed  her  with  his  eyes  as  she  walked  up 
the  road,  past  the  old-fashioned  latticed  front  door 
with  its  heavy  fold  of  crape  hanging  on  the  knocker, 
and  turned  from  sight  at  the  corner  of  the  house ; 
and  the  look  in  his  face  was  soft  and  admiring,  even 
if  it  was  hardly  loverlike.  In  his  trouble — and  he 
felt  the  bereavement  most  keenly — it  seemed  restful 
and  good  to  have  such  a  girl  as  Annie  about.  In- 
deed, a  vague  thought  that  she  had  never  before 
seemed  so  sweet  and  likeable  came  to  him,  as  he 
turned  again  to  the  hinge,  and  lightened  his  heart 
perceptibly,  for  almost  the  last  words  his  mother 
had  spoken  to  him  had  been  of  his  future  with  An- 
nie as  his  wife. 

"  You  will  have  the  farm  before  long,  Seth,"  she 
said,  smiling  faintly  as  he  stroked  her  pale  hair 
— somehow  to  the  last  it  never  grew  grey— and 
looked  at  her  through  boyish  tears,  "  and  Annie 
will  bring  you  the  Warren  farm.  Her  grandmother 
and  I  have  talked  it  over  many  a  time.  Annie's  a 
good  girl,  there's  no  better,  and  she'll  make  my  boy 
a  good,  true  wife." 

For  a  year  or  two  back  Seth  had  understood  in  a 
nebulous  way  that  his  parents  had  an  idea  of  his 
eventually  marrying  Annie,  but  his  mother's  words 
still  came  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  surprise.  First, 
it  had  been  far  from  his  thoughts  that  old  Mrs. 
Warren,  Annie's  invalid  grandmother,  would  listen 
to  such  a  thing,  much  less  plan  it.  There  was  a  bit- 


28  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

terness  of  long  standing  between  the  two  families, 
he  knew.  His  father's  younger  brother — a  half- 
brother — named  William  Fairchild,  had  married  Mrs. 
Warren's  only  daughter  under  circumstances  which 
he  had  never  heard  detailed,  but  which  at  least  had 
enraged  the  mother.  Both  William  and  his  wife 
had  died,  out  West  he  believed,  years  and  years  ago, 
leaving  only  this  girl,  Annie  Fairchild,  who  came  an 
orphan  to  the  grandmother  she  had  never  seen  be- 
fore, and  was  reared  by  her.  In  this  Mrs.  Warren 
and  his  aunt  Sabrina  had  found  sufficient  occasion 
for  a  quarrel,  lasting  ever  since  he  could  remember, 
and  as  he  had  always  understood  from  his  aunt  that 
her  battle  was  in  defense  of  the  whole  family,  he  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  he  not  less  than  the  other 
Fairchilds  was  included  in  Mrs.  Warren's  disfavor. 
He  recalled,  now,  indeed,  having  heard  Annie  say 
once  or  twice  that  her  grandmother  liked  him  ;  but 
this  he  had  taken  in  a  negative  way,  as  if  the  grand- 
mother of  the  Capulets  had  remarked  that  of  all  the 
loathed  Montagus  perhaps  young  Romeo  was  per- 
sonally the  least  offensive  to  her  sight. 

And  second,  he  was  far  from  being  in  a  Romeo's 
condition  of  heart  and  mind.  He  was  not  in  love 
with  Annie  for  herself — much  less  for  the  W'arren 
farm.  To  state  plainly  what  Seth  had  not  yet  mus- 
tered courage  to  say  in  entire  frankness  even  to  him- 
self, he  hated  farming,  and  rebelled  against  the  idea 
of  following  in  his  father's  footsteps.  And  the 
dreams  of  a  career  elsewhere  which  occupied  the 
mutinous  thoughts  Seth  concealed  under  so  passive 


The   Two   Young  Women.  29 

an  exterior  had  carried  him  far  away  from  the  plan 
of  an  alliance  with  the  nice  sort  of  country  cousin 
who  would  eventually  own  the  adjoining  farm.  So 
in  this  sense,  too,  his  mother's  dying  words  were  a 
surprise — converting  into  a  definite  and  almost  sa- 
cred desire  what  he  had  supposed  to  be  merely  a 
shapeless  fancy. 

Not  all  this  crossed  his  mind,  as  he  watched  Annie 
till  she  disappeared,  and  then  turned  back  to  his 
work.  But  the  sight  of  her  had  been  pleasant  to 
him,  and  her  voice  had  sounded  very  gentle  and  yet 
full  of  the  substance  of  womanliness — and  perhaps 
his  poor,  dear  mother's  plan  for  him,  after  all,  was 
the  best. 

The  gate  swinging  properly  at  last,  there  was  an 
end  to  Seth's  out-door  tasks,  and  he  started  toward 
the  house.  The  thought  that  he  would  see  Annie 
within  was  distinct  enough  in  his  mind,  almost,  to 
constitute  a  motive  for  his  going.  At  the  very  door 
he  encountered  his  brother  Albert's  wife,  coming 
out,  and  stopped. 

Isabel  Fairchild  was  far  from  deserving,  at  least 
as  a  woman,  the  epithets  with  which  Aunt  Sabrina 
mentally  coupled  her  girlhood.  There  was  nothing 
impertinent  or  ill-behaved  about  her  appearance, 
certainly,  as  she  stood  before  Seth,  and  with  a  faint 
smile  bade  him  good-morning. 

She  was  above  the  medium  height,  as  woman's 
stature  goes,  and  almost  plump ;  her  hair,  much  of 
which  was  shown  in  front  by  the  pretty  Parisian 
form  of  straw  hat  she  wore,  was  very  light  in  color ; 


30  Settts  Brother's   Wife. 

her  eyes  were  blue,  a  light,  noticeable  blue.  She 
wore  some  loose  kind  of  black  and  gray  morning 
dress,  with  an  extra  fold  falling  in  graceful  lines  from 
her  shoulders  to  her  train,  like  a  toga,  and  she  car- 
ried a  dainty  parasol,  also  of  black  and  gray,  like  the 
ribbons  on  her  dark  hat.  To  Seth's  eyes  she  had 
seemed  yesterday,  when  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time, 
a  very  embodiment  of  the  luxury,  beauty,  refinement 
of  city  life — and  how  much  more  so  now,  when  her 
dingy  traveling  raiment  had  given  place  to  this  most 
engaging  garb,  so  subdued,  yet  so  lovely.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  his  sister-in-law  was  quite  the  most  at- 
tractive woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  I  thought  of  going  for  a  little  stroll,"  she  said, 
again  with  the  faint,  half-smile.  "  It  is  so  charming 
outside,  and  so  blue  and  depressing  in  the  house. 
Can  I  walk  along  there  through  the  orchard  now  ? 
— I  used  to  when  I  was  here  as  a  girl,  I  know — and 
won't  you  come  with  me  ?  I've  scarcely  had  a  chance 
for  a  word  with  you  since  we  came." 

The  invitation  was  pleasant  enough  to  Seth,  but 
he  looked  down  deprecatingly  at  his  rough  chore 
clothes,  and  wondered  whether  he  ought  to  accept  it 
or  not. 

"  Why,  Seth,  the  idea  of  standing  on  ceremony 
with  me  /  As  if  we  hadn't  played  together  here  as 
children — to  say  nothing  of  my  being  your  sister 
now ! " 

They  had  started  now  toward  the  orchard,  and  she 
continued  : — 

"  Do  you  know,  it  seems  as  if  I  didn't  know  any- 


The   Two   Young  Women.  31 

body  here  but  you — and  even  you  almost  make  a 
stranger  out  of  me.  Poor  Uncle  Lemuel,  he  is  so 
broken-down  that  he  scarcely  remembers  me,  and  of 
course  your  Aunt  and  I  couldn't  be  expected  to  get 
very  intimate — you  remember  our  dispute  ?  Then 
John,  he's  very  pleasant,  and  all  that,  but  he  isn't  at 
all  like  the  John  I  used  to  look  up  to  so,  the  summer 
I  was  here.  But  you — you  have  hardly  changed  a 
bit.  Of  course,"  she  made  haste  to  add,  for  Seth's 
face  did  not  reflect  unalloyed  gratification  at  this, 
"  you  have  grown  manly  and  big,  and  all  that,  but 
you  haven't  changed  in  your  expression  or  manner. 
It's  almost  ten  years — and  I  should  have  known  you 
anywhere.  But  John  has  changed — he's  more  like 
a  city  man,  or  rather  a  villager,  a  compromise  be- 
tween city  and  country." 

"Yes,  I'm  a  countryman  through  and  through,  I 
suppose,"  said  Seth,  with  something  very  like  a  sigh. 

"  John  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  they  tell 
me,  and  been  on  papers  in  large  cities.  I  wonder 
how  he  can  content  himself  with  that  little  weekly 
in  Thessaly  after  that." 

"  I  don't  think  John  has  much  ambition,"  answered 
Seth,  meditatively.  "  He  doesn't  seem  to  care  much 
how  things  go,  if  he  only  has  the  chance  to  say  what 
he  wants  to  say  in  print.  It  doesn't  make  any  dif- 
ference to  him,  apparently,  whether  all  New  York 
State  reads  what  he  writes,  or  only  thirty  or  forty 
fellows  in  Dearborn  County — he's  just  as  well  satis- 
fied. And  yet  he's  a  very  bright  man,  too.  He 
might  have  gone  to  the  Assembly  last  fall,  if  he 


32  Set /is  Brother's   Wife. 

could  have  bid  against  Elhanan  Pratt.  He  will  go 
sometime,  probably." 

"  Why,  do  you  have  an  auction  here  for  the  As- 
sembly?" 

"  Oh,  no,  but  the  man  who's  willing  to  pay  a  big 
assessment  into  the  campaign  fund  can  generally  shut 
a  poor  candidate  out.  John  didn't  seem  to  mind 
much  about  being  frozen  out  though — not  half  so 
much  as  I  did,  for  him.  Everybody  in  Thessaly 
knows  him  and  likes  him  and  calls  him  '  John,'  and 
that  seems  to  be  the  height  of  his  ambition.  I  can't 
imagine  a  man  of  his  abilities  being  satisfied  with  so 
limited  a  horizon." 

"And,  you,  Seth,  what  is  your  horizon  like?" 
asked  Isabel. 

They  had  entered  the  orchard  path,  now,  and  the 
apple  blossoms  close  above  them  filled  the  May 
morning  air  with  that  sweet  spring  perfume  which 
seems  to  tell  of  growth,  harvest,  the  fruition  of  hope. 

"  Oh,  I'm  picked  out  to  be  a  countryman  all  the 
days  of  my  life  I  suppose."  There  was  the  sigh 
again,  and  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  his  tone,  as  well. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not — that  is,  if  you  don't  want  to  be. 
Oh,  it  must  be  such  a  dreary  life!  The  very  thought 
of  it  sets  my  teeth  on  edge.  The  dreadful  people 
you  have  to  know :  men  without  an  idea  beyond 
crops  and  calves  and  the  cheese-factory;  women 
slaving  their  lives  out  doing  bad  cooking,  mending 
for  a  houseful  of  men,  devoting  their  scarce  oppor- 
tunities for  intercourse  with  other  women  to  the 
weakest  and  most  wretched  gossip  ;  coarse  servants 


The   Two   Young  Women.  33 

who  eat  at  the  table  with  their  employers  and  call 
them  by  their  Christian  names  ;  boys  whose  only 
theory  about  education  is  thrashing  the  school 
teacher,  if  it  is  a  man,  or  breaking  her  heart  by  their 
mean  insolence  if  it  is  a  woman  ;  and  girls  brought 
up  to  be  awkward  gawks,  without  a  chance  in  life, 
since  the  brighter  and  nicer  they  are  the  more  they 
will  suffer  from  marriage  with  men  mentally  beneath 
them— that  is,  if  they  don't  become  sour  old  maids. 
I  don't  wonder  you  hate  it  all,  Seth." 

"  You  talk  like  a  book,"  said  Seth,  in  tones  of  un- 
mistakable  admiration.  "I  didn't  suppose  any 
woman  could  talk  like  that." 

"  I  talk  as  I  feel  always,  when  I  come  into  contact 
with  country  life,  and  I  get  angry  with  people  who 
maunder  about  its  romantic  and  picturesque  side. 
Where  is  it,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  all  so  bad  as  you  paint  it,  perhaps, 

Isabel.     Of  course "  — here  he  hesitated  a  little 

— "  you  don't  quite  see  it  at  its  best  here,  you  know. 
Father  hasn't  been  a  first-rate  manager,  and  things 
have  kind  o'  run  down." 

"  No,  Seth,  it  isn't  that ;  the  trail  of  the  serpent 
is  over  it  all — rich  and  poor,  big  and  little.  The 
Nineteenth  century  is  a  century  of  cities  ;  they  have 
given  their  own  twist  to  the  progress  of  the  age — 
and  the  farmer  is  almost  as  far  out  of  it  as  if  he  lived 
in  Alaska.  Perhaps  there  may  have  been  a  time 
when  a  man  could  live  in  what  the  poet  calls  daily 
communion  with  Nature  and  not  starve  his  mind 
and  dwarf  his  soul,  but  this  isn't  the  century." 
3 


34  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

"  But  Webster  was  a  farm  boy,  and  so  was  Lin- 
coln and  Garfield  and  Jackson — almost  all  our  great 
men.  Hardly  any  of  them  are  born  in  cities,  you 
will  find." 

"  Oh,  the  country  is  just  splendid  to  be  born  in, 
no  doubt  of  that ;  but  after  you  are  born,  get  out  of 
it  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  can  leave  Father  very  well," 
said  Seth  slowly,  and  as  if  in  deep  thought. 

They  walked  to  the  end  of  the  pasture  beyond 
the  orchard,  to  within  view  of  the  spot  where  all  the 
Fairchilds  for  three  generations  had  been  laid,  and 
where,  among  the  clustering  sweet-briars  and  wild- 
strawberry  vines  Milton  had  only  yesterday  dug  a 
new  grave.  The  sight  recalled  to  both  another  sub- 
ject, and  no  more  was  said  of  country  life  as  they 
returned  to  the  house.  Indeed,  little  was  said  of 
any  sort,  for  Seth  had  a  thinking  mood  on.  Nothing 
was  very  clear  in  his  mind  perhaps,  but  more  dis- 
tinctly than  anything  else  he  felt  that  existence  on 
the  farm  had  all  at  once  become  intolerable. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  FUNERAL. 

THE  American  farm  house  funeral  is  surely,  of  all 
the  observances  with  which  civilized  man  marks  the 
ending  of  this  earthly  pilgrimage,  the  most  pathetic. 
The  rural  life  itself  is  a  sad  and  sterile  enough  thing, 
with  its  unrelieved  physical  strain,  its  enervating 
and  destructive  diet,  its  mental  barrenness,  its 
sternly  narrowed  groove  of  toil  and  thought  and 
companionship — but  death  on  the  farm  brings  a 
desolating  gloom,  a  cruel  sense  of  the  hopelessness 
of  existence,  which  one  realizes  nowhere  else.  The 
grim,  fatalist  habit  of  seizing  upon  the  grotesque 
side,  which  a  century  of  farm  life  has  crystallized 
into  what  the  world  knows  as  American  humor,  is 
not  wanting  even  in  this  hour ;  and  the  comforting 
conviction  of  immortality,  of  the  shining  reward  to 
follow  travail  and  sorrow,  is  nowhere  more  firmly 
insisted  upon  than  among  our  country  people.  But  * 
the  bleak  environment  of  the  closed  life,  the  absence 
of  real  fellowship  among  the  living,  the  melancholy 
isolation  and  vanity  of  it  all,  oppress  the  soul  here 
with  an  intolerable  weight  which  neither  fund  of 
sardonic  spirits  nor  honest  faith  can  lighten. 

Something  of  this  Isabel  felt,  as  the  mid-day  meal 


36  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

was  hurried  through,  on  Alvira's  sharp  intimation 
that  the  room  couldn't  be  cleared  any  too  soon,  for 
the  crowd  would  begin  coming  now,  right  along. 
There  were  three  strangers  at  the  table — though 
they  seemed  to  be  scarcely  more  strangers  than  the 
members  of  her  husband's  family — of  whom  two 
were  clergymen. 

One  of  these,  who  sat  next  to  her,  was  the  Epis- 
copalian minister  at  Thessaly,  a  middle-aged,  soft 
sort  of  man,  with  short  hair  so  smooth  and  furry 
that  she  was  conscious  of  an  impulse  to  stroke  it 
like  a  seal-skin,  and  little  side-whiskers  which  re- 
minded her  of  a  baby  brush.  He  impressed  her  as  a 
stupid  man,  but  in  that  she  was  mistaken.  He  was 
nervous  and  ill  at  ease,  first  because  he  could  not 
successfully  or  gracefully  use  the  narrow  three-tined 
steel  fork  with  a  bone  handle  that  had  been  given 
him,  and  second,  because  he  did  not  understand  the 
presence  of  the  Rev.  Stephen  Bunce,  who  sat  oppo- 
site him,  offensively  smacking  his  lips,  and  devoting 
to  loud  discourse  periods  which  it  seemed  might  bet- 
ter have  been  employed  in  mastication. 

If  quiet  Mr.  Turner  was  ill  at  ease,  the  Rev. 
Stephen  was  certainly  not.  He  bestrode  the  situ- 
ation like  a  modern  Colossus.  The  shape  of  his 
fork  did  not  worry  him,  since  he  used  it  only  as  a 
humble  and  lowly  adjunct  to  his  knife.  The  pres- 
ence of  Mr.  Turner  too,  neither  puzzled  nor  pained 
him.  In  fact,  he  was  rather  pleased  than  otherwise 
to  have  him  there,  where  he  could  talk  to  him  before 
sympathetic  witnesses,  and  make  him  realise  how 


The  Funeral.  37 

the  man  of  the  people  who  had  a  genuine  call  tow- 
ered innately  superior  to  mere  beneficed  gentility. 
"  Beneficed  gentility  " — that  was  a  good  phrase,  and 
he  made  a  mental  note  of  it  for  future  use  ;  then — 
the  temptation  was  too  strong — he  bundled  it  neck 
and  crop  into  the  florid  sentence  with  which  he  was 
addressing  Albert — and  looked  at  the  Episcopalian 
to  watch  its  effect. 

Mr.  Turner  was  occupied  with  his  javelin-shaped 
fork,  and  did  not  seem  to  hear  it. 

Mr.  Bunce  suspected  artifice  in  this,  and  watched 
the  rector's  meek  face  for  a  sign  of  secret  con- 
fusion. After  a  moment  he  said,  with  his  full, 
pompous  voice  at  its  loudest  and  most  artificial 
pitch : — 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Turner,  this  is  a  sad  occasion  !  " 

The  rector  glanced  up  with  some  surprise,  for  he 
had  not  expected  this  overture,  and  answered  "  Yes, 
truly  it  is  ;  extremely  sad." 

"Yet  it  is  consoling  to  feel  that  even  so  sad  an 
occasion  can  be  converted  into  a  means  of  grace,  a 
season  of  spiritual  solace  as  it  were." 

Mr.  Turner  only  nodded  assent  to  this  ;  he  felt  that 
the  whole  company  around  the  table,  hired  people 
and  all,  were  eagerly  watching  him  and  the  burly, 
bold-faced  preacher  opposite,  as  if  they  were  about 
to  engage  in  gladiatorial  combat. 

But  Mr.  Bunce  would  not  permit  the  challenge 
to  be  declined.  He  stroked  his  ochre-hued  chin 
whisker,  looked  complacently  around  the  board,  and 
asked : 


38  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

"  I  s'pose  you've  brought  your  white  and  black 
riggins'  along,  eh  ?  Or  don't  you  wear  'em  except 
in  Church  ?  '* 

There  was  a  pained  look  in  Mr.  Turner's  face  ;  he 
made  a  little  gesture  toward  the  folding  doors  lead- 
ing to  the  parlor,  beyond  which  lay  the  dead,  and 
murmured  : 

"  It  will  be  better,  will  it  not,  to  speak  of  these 
matters  together,  after  dinner  ?  " 

Again  the  Rev.  Stephen  glanced  around  the  table, 
looking  especially  toward  Miss  Sabrina  for  approval, 
and  remarked  loftily  : 

"  There  is  no  need  of  concealment  here,  sir.  It 
is  all  in  the  family  here.  We  all  know  that  the 
Mother  in  Israel  who  has  departed  was  formerly  of 
your  communion,  and  if  she  wanted  to  have  you 
here,  sir,  at  her  funeral,  why  well  and  good.  But 
the  rest  of  this  sorrowin'  family,  sir,  this  stricken 
household,  air  Baptists — " 

"  I  declare !  there's  the  Burrells  drivin'  into  the 
yard,  a'ready ! "  said  Alvira,  rising  from  her  chair 
abruptly.  "  If  you're  threw  we  better  hustle  these 
things  aout,  naow  ;  you  women  won't  more'n  have 
time  to  dress  'fore  they'll  all  be  here." 

The  interruption  seemed  a  welcome  one  to  every- 
body, for  there  was  a  general  movement  on  both 
sides  of  Mr.  Bunce,  which  he,  with  his  sentence  un- 
finished, was  constrained  to  join. 

The  third  stranger,  a  small,  elderly  man  with  a 
mobile  countenance  and  rusty  black  clothes,  drew 
himself  up,  put  on  a  modifiedly  doleful  expression, 


The  Funeral.  39 

and,  speaking  for  the  first  time,  assumed  control  of 
everything : 

"  Naow,  Milton,  you  'n'  Leander  git  the  table  aout, 
'n'  bring  in  all  the  extry  chairs,  'n'  set  'em  'raound 
in  rows.  Squeeze  'em  pooty  well  together  in  back, 
but  the  front  ones  kind  o'  spread  aout.  You,  Miss 
Sabriny,  'n'  the  lady  " — indicating  Isabel  with  his 
thumb — "  'n'  Annie  'd  better  go  upstairs  'n'  git  yer 
bonnets  on,  'n'  things,  'n'  go  'n'  set  in  the  room  at 
the  head  o'  the  stairs.  You  men,  tew,  git  your 
gloves  on,  'n'  naow  be  sure  'n'  have  your  hankch'fs 
in  some  pocket  where  you  can  git  at  'em  with  your 
gloves  on — 'n'  have  your  hats  in  your  hands,  'n' 
then  go  'n'  set  with  the  ladies.  Miss  Sabriny,  you'll 
come  daown  arm-in-arm  with  yer  brother,  when  I 
call,  'n'  then  Albert  'n'  his  wife,  'n'  John  with  Annie, 
'n'  Seth  with — pshaw,  there's  odd  numbers.  Well, 
Seth  can  come  alone.  And  dew  keep  step  comin' 
daown  stairs !  " 

"  'N'  naow,  gents,"  turning  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tur- 
ner, "  your  gaown's  in  the  fust  room  to  the  right  on 
the  landin',  and  if  you  " — addressing  Mr.  Bunce — 
"  will  go  up  with  him,  and  arrange  'baout  the  ser- 
vices, so's  to  come  daown  together — it'll  look  pootier 
than  to  straggle  in  by  yourselves, — 'N'  you,  Milton, 
ain't  you  got  somethin'  besides  overalls  to  put  on  ?  " 

Thus  the  autocrat  cleared  the  living  room.  Then, 
going  around  through  the  front  hall,  he  entered  the 
parlor  to  receive,  with  solemn  dignity  and  a  fine 
eye  to  their  relative  social  merit,  the  first  comers. 

These  were  almost  exclusively  women,  dressed  in 


40  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

Sunday  garb.  As  each  buggy  or  democrat  wagon 
drove  up  inside  the  gate,  and  discharged  its  burden, 
the  men  would  lead  the  horses  further  on,  to  be 
hitched  under  or  near  the  shed,  and  then  saunter 
around  to  the  kitchen  side  of  the  house,  where  cider 
was  on  tap,  and  other  men  were  standing  in  the  sun- 
shine, chewing  tobacco  and  conversing  in  low  tones, 
while  the  women  from  each  conveyance  went  straight 
to  the  front  door,  and  got  seats  in  the  parlor  as  close 
to  the  coffin  as  possible.  The  separation  of  the 
sexes  could  hardly  have  been  more  rigorous  in  a 
synagogue.  There  were,  indeed  two  or  three  meek, 
well-brushed  men  among  the  women,  sitting,  uncom- 
fortable but  resigned,  in  the  geranium-scented  gloom 
of  the  curtained  parlor,  but,  as  the  more  virile 
brethren  outside  would  have  said,  they  were  men 
who  didn't  count. 

The  task  of  the  undertaker  was  neither  light  nor 
altogether  smooth.  There  were  some  dozen  chairs 
reserved,  nearest  the  pall,  for  the  mourners,  the 
clergymen  and  the  mixed  quartette  expected  from 
Thessaly.  Every  woman  on  entering  made  for  these 
chairs,  and  the  more  unimportant  and  "  low-down  " 
she  was  in  the  rural  scale  of  social  values,  the  more 
confidently  she  essayed  to  get  one  of  them.  With 
all  of  these  more  or  less  argument  was  necessary — 
conducted  in  a  buzzing  whisper  from  which  some 
squeak  or  guttural  exclamation  would  now  and  again 
emerge.  With  some,  the  undertaker  was  compelled 
to  be  quite  peremptory  ;  while  one  woman — Susan 
Jane  Squires,  a  slatternly,  weak-eyed  creature  who 


The  Funeral.  41 

presumed  upon  her  position  as  sister-in-law  of  Mil- 
ton, the  hired  man — had  actually  to  be  pushed  away 
by  sheer  force. 

Then  there  was  the  further  labor  of  inducing  all 
these  disappointed  ones  to  take  the  seats  furthest 
back,  so  that  late  comers  might  not  have  to  push 
by  and  over  them,  but  efforts  in  this  direction  were 
only  fitful  at  the  best,  and  soon  were  practically 
abandoned. 

"  Fust  come,  fust  sarved  !  "  said  old  Mrs.  Wimple. 
"  I'm  jes  ez  good  ez  them  that'll  come  bimeby,  'n' 
ef  I  don'  mind  their  climbin*  over  me,  you  needn't  !  " 
and  against  this  the  undertaker  could  urge  nothing 
satisfactory. 

In  the  intervals  of  that  functionary's  activity, 
conversation  was  quite  general,  carried  on  in  whis- 
pers which,  in  the  aggregate,  sounded  like  the  rustle 
of  a  smart  breeze  through  the  dry  leaves  of  a  beach 
tree.  Many  women  were  there  who  had  never  been 
in  the  house  before — could  indeed,  have  had  no 
other  chance  of  getting  in.  These  had  some  fleet- 
ing interest  in  the  funeral  appointments,  and  the 
expense  incident  thereto,  but  their  chief  concern 
was  the  furnishing  of  the  house.  They  furtively 
scraped  the  carpet  with  their  feet  to  test  its  qual- 
ity, they  felt  of  the  furniture  to  see  if  it  had  been 
re-varnished,  they  estimated  the  value  of  the  cur- 
tains, speculated  on  the  cost  of  the  melodeon  and 
its  age,  wondered  when  the  ceiling  had  last  been 
whitewashed.  Some,  who  knew  the  family  better, 
discussed  the  lamentable  decline  of  the  Fairchilds 


42  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

in  substance  and  standing  within  their  recollection, 
and  exchanged  hints  about  the  endemic  mortgage 
stretching  its  sinister  hand  even  to  the  very  chairs 
they  were  sitting  on.  Others,  still  more  intimate, 
re"hearsed  the  details  of  the  last  and  fatal  illness, 
commented  on  the  character  of  individuals  in  the 
family,  and  guessed  how  long  old  Lemuel  would 
last,  now  that  Cicely  was  gone. 

In  the  centre  of  these  circling  waves  of  gossip  lay 
the  embodiment  of  the  eternal  silence.  Listening, 
one  might  fain  envy  such  an  end  to  that  living  death 
of  mental  starvation  which  was  the  lot  of  all  there, 
and  which  forced  them,  out  of  their  womanhood,  to 
chatter  in  the  presence  of  death. 

The  singers  came.  They  were  from  the  village, 
belonging  to  the  Congregational  church  there,  and 
it  was  understood  that  they  came  out  of  liking  for 
John  Fairchild.  None  of  the  gathering  knew  them 
personally,  but  it  was  said  that  the  contralto — the 
woman  with  the  bird  on  her  bonnet,  who  took  her 
seat  at  the  melodeon — had  had  trouble  with  her 
husband.  A  fresh  buzz  of  whispering  ran  round. 
Some  stray  word  must  have  reached  the  contralto, 
for  she  colored  and  pretended  to  study  the  music 
before  her  intently,  and,  later,  when  "  Pleyel's 
Hymn"  was  being  sung,  she  played  so  nervously 
that  there  was  an  utter  collapse  in  the  sharps  and 
flats  of  the  third  line,  which  nearly  threw  the  sing- 
ers out. 

The  undertaker  now  stalked  in,  and  stood  on  tip- 
toe to  see  if  the  back  room  was  also  filled.  He  had 


The  Funeral.  43 

been  out  with  the  men  at  the  kitchen  door,  fixing 
crape  on  the  arms  of  six  of  the  best  dressed  and 
most  respectable  looking  farmers  in  an  almost  jocu- 
lar mood,  and  drilling  them  affably  in  their  duties  ; 
drinking  cider,  exchanging  gossip  with  one  or  two 
acquaintances,  and  conducting  himself  generally  like 
an  ordinary  mortal.  He  had  now  resumed  his  dic- 
tatorship. 

Most  of  the  men  had  followed  him  around  to  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  clustered  now  in  the  hall,  or 
in  a  group  about  the  outer  door,  holding  their  hats 
on  a  level  with  their  shoulders. 

A  rustle  on  the  stairs  told  that  the  mourners 
were  descending.  Then  came  the  strains  of  the 
melodeon,  and  the  singing,  very  low,  solemn  and 
sweet. 

A  little  pause,  and  the  full  voice  of  the  Baptist 
preacher  was  heard  in  prayer — then  in  some  eulo- 
gistic remarks.  What  ha  said  was  largely  nonsense, 
from  any  point  of  view,  but  the  voice  was  that  of 
the  born  exhorter,  deep,  clear-toned,  melodious; 
there  seemed  to  be  a  stop  in  it,  as  in  an  organ, 
which  at  pathetic  parts  gave  forth  a  tremulous, 
weeping  sound,  and  when  this  came,  not  a  dry  eye 
could  be  found.  He  was  over-fond  of  using  this 
effect,  as  are  most  men  possessing  the  trick,  but  no 
one  noticed  it,  not  even  Isabel,  who  from  sitting 
sternly  intolerant  of  the  whispering  women  around 
her,  and  indignant  at  Mr.  Bunce  for  his  dinner  per- 
formance, found  herself  sobbing  with  all  the  rest 
when  the  tremulo  stop  was  touched. 


44  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

There  was  more  singing,  this  time  fine,  simple  old 
"  St.  Denis  "  and  then  the  bearers  were  summoned 
in. 

The  men  asked  one  another  in  murmurs  outside 
if  the  Episcopal  clargyman  was  to  take  no  part  in 
the  services.  Within,  Mrs.  Wimple  went  straighter 
to  the  point.  She  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve  of  his 
robe  and  leaning  over  with  some  difficulty,  for  she 
was  a  corpulent  body,  whispered  to  the  hearing  of  a 
score  of  her  neighbours  : 

"  What  air  you  here  fer,  mister,  if  you  ain't  goin* 
to  say  nor  dew  nothin'  ?  " 

"  I  officiate  at  the  grave,"  he  had  said,  and  then 
regretted  all  the  remainder  of  the  day  having  an- 
swered her  at  all. 

On  the  return  of  the  procession  from  the  little 
knoll  where  the  slate  and  marble  tomb-stones  of 
long  dead  Fairchilds  bent  over  the  new  brown 
mound,  Annie  and  Seth  walked  together.  There 
was  silence  between  them  for  a  time,  which  he 
broke  suddenly. 

"  It's  all  very  hard,  Annie,  for  you  know  how 
much  mother  and  I  loved  each  other.  But,  truly, 
the  hardest  thing  of  all  is  to  think  of  staying  here 
among  these  narrow  dolts.  While  she  was  here  I 
could  stand  it.  But  I  can't  any  more." 

Annie  said  nothing.  She  felt  his  arm  trembling 
against  hers,  and  his  voice  was  strained  and  excited. 
What  could  she  say  ? 

"  They're   not   like   me,"  he   went  on ;  "I    have 


The  Funeral.  45 

nothing  in  common  with  them.  I  hate  the  sight  of 
the  whole  of  them.  I  never  realised  till  to-day  how 
big  a  gulf  there  was  between  them  and  me.  Didn't 
you  see  it — what  a  mean,  narrow-contracted  lot  they 
all  were  ?  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean,  Seth  ?  " 

"  Why  all  of  them.  The  Burrells,  the  Wimples, 
old  Elhanan  Pratt,  old  Lyman  Tenney,  that  fellow 
Bunce — the  whole  lot  of  them.  And  the  women 
too  !  Did  you  watch  them — or,  what's  worse,  did 
you  hear  them  ?  I  wonder  you  can  bear  them  your- 
self, Annie,  any  more  than  I  can." 

"  Sometimes  it  is  hard,  Seth,  I  admit  ;  when  I 
first  came  back  to  grandma  from  school  it  was 
awfully  hard.  But  then  I've  got  to  live  here,  and 
reconcile  myself  to  what  the  place  offers, — and, 
after  all,  Seth,  they  are  well-meaning  people,  and 
some  of  them  are  smart,  too,  in  their  way." 

"  Oh,  well-meaning — in  their  way, — yes  !  But  I 
haven't  got  to  live  here,  Annie,  and  I  haven't  got 
to  reconcile  myself,  and  I  won't !  That's  the  long 
and  short  of  it.  I  can  make  my  living  elsewhere — 
perhaps  more  than  my  living — and  be  among  peo- 
ple who  don't  make  me  angry  every  time  I  set  eyes 
on  them.  And  I  can  find  friends,  too,  who  feel  as 
I  do,  and  look  at  things  as  I  do,  instead  of  these 
country  louts  who  only  know  abominable  stories, 
and  these  foolish  girls — who— who — " 

"  Nobody  can  blame  you  to-day,  Seth,  for  feeling 
blue  and  sore,  but  you  ought  not  to  talk  so,  even 
now.  They're  not  all  like  what  you  say.  Reuben 


46  Settts  Brother's   Wife. 

Tracy,  now,  he's  been  a  good  friend  and  a  useful 
friend  to  you." 

"  Yes,  Rube's  a  grand,  good  fellow,  of  course.  I 
know  all  that.  But  then  just  take  his  case.  He's 
a  poor  schoolmaster  now,  just  as  he  was  five  years 
ago,  and  will  be  twenty  years  from  now.  What 
kind  of  a  life  is  that  for  a  man  ?  " 

"  And  maybe  the  girls  are — foolish,  as  you  started 
to  say,  but — 

"  Now,  Annie,  don't  think  I  m'eant  anything  by 
that,  please  !  I  know  you're  the  dearest  girl  and  the 
best  friend  in  the  world.  Truly,  now,  you  won't 
think  I  meant  anything,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Seth,  I  won't  "  said  Annie  softly.  It  was 
her  arm  that  trembled  now. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  FAMILY. 

MlSS  SABRINA  sat  by  her  accustomed  window  an 
hour  after  the  return  from  the  grave,  waiting  for 
Albert.  The  mourning  dress,  borrowed  for  the 
occasion  from  a  neighbor,  was  cut  in  so  modern  a 
fashion,  contrasted  with  the  venerable  maiden's  ha- 
bitual garments,  that  it  gave  her  spare  figure  almost 
a  fantastic  air.  The  bonnet,  with  its  yard  of  dense, 
coarse  ribbed  crape,  lay  on  the  table  at  her  elbow, 
beside  her  spectacles  and  the  unnoticed  Bible.  Miss 
Sabrina  was  ostensibly  looking  out  of  the  window, 
but  she  really  saw  nothing.  She  was  thinking  very 
steadily  about  the  coming  interview  with  her 
nephew,  and  what  she  would  say  to  him,  and  won- 
dering, desponding,  hoping  about  his  answers. 

The  door  opened,  and  Albert  entered.  "  You 
wanted  to  see  me,  Aunt,  so  Annie  said,"  he  remarked 
gravely,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

She  motioned  him  to  a  chair  and  answered,  in  a  sol- 
emn voice  curiously  like  his  own  :  "  Yes,  there's  some 
things  I  want  to  say  to  you,  all  by  yourself." 

They  sat  for  some  moments  in  silence,  the  lawyer 
watching  his  aunt  with  amiable  forbearance,  as  if  con- 
scious that  his  time  was  being  wasted,  and  she,  poor 


48  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

woman,  groping  in  a  novel  mental  fog  for  some  suita- 
ble phrases  with  which  to  present  her  views.  Under 
Albert's  calm,  uninspiring  gaze  those  views  seemed 
to  lose  form,  and  diminish  in  intelligence  as  much 
as  in  distinctness.  It  had  all  been  so  clear  to  her 
mind — and  now  she  suddenly  found  it  fading  off  into 
a  misty  jumble  of  speculations,  mere  castles  in  the  air. 
She  had  expected  to  present  an  unanswerable  case 
lucidly  and  forcibly  to  her  lawyer  nephew  ;  instead, 
it  seemed  increasingly  probable  that  he  would  scout 
the  thing  as  ridiculous — and,  what  was  worse,  be  jus- 
tified in  so  doing.  So  it  was  that  she  finally  made 
her  beginning  doubtingly,  almost  dolefully : 

"  Of  course  I  dunno  haow  you  feel  abaout  it,  Al- 
bert, but  I  can't  help  thinking  something  ought  to 
be  settled  abaout  th'  farm,  while  yer  here." 

"  Settled  ?  How  settled  ?  "  asked  Albert.  There 
was  a  dry,  dispassionate  fibre  in  his  voice  which  fur- 
ther chilled  her  enthusiasm. 

"Why— well — you  knaow — what  I  mean, Albert," 
she  said,  almost  pathetically.  It  was  so  hard  to 
know  just  how  to  say  things  to  Albert. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what 
you  mean.  What  do  you  want  settled  about  the 
farm  ?  What  is  there  to  settle  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothin',  ef  yeh  don't  choose  to  understand  " 
said  Miss  Sabrina." 

Another  period  of  silence  ensued.  Albert  made 
a  movement  as  if  to  rise,  and  said  : 

"  If  there  is'nt  anything  more,  I  think  I'll  go  down 
again." 


In  the  Name  of  the  Family.  49 

There  was  an  artificial  nicety  of  enunciation  about 
this  speech,  which  grated  on  the  old  lady's  nerves. 
She  squared  her  shoulders  and  turned  upon  her 
nephew. 

"Naow  what's  the  use  of  bein'  mean,  Albert? 
Yeh  dew  knaow  what  I'm  thinking  of,  jis'  ez  well  ez 
I  dew !  Yeh  unly  want  to  make  it  ez  hard  fer  me 
to  tell  yeh  as  yeh  possibly  kin.  I  s'pose  thet's  the 
lawyer  of  it !  " 

Albert  smiled  with  all  his  face  but  the  eyes,  and 
slightly  lifting  his  hands  from  his  fat  knees,  turned 
them  palms  up,  in  mute  deprecation  of  his  aunt's 
unreasonableness.  The  gesture  was  as  near  ihe 
shoulder-shrug  as  the  self-contained  lawyer  ever  per- 
mitted himself  to  go.  It  was  a  trifle,  but  it  angered 
the  old  maid  enough  to  remove  the  last  vestige  of 
hesitation  from  her  tongue : 

"  Well,  ef  yeh  dorit  knaow  what  I  mean,  then 
I'll  tell  yeh !  I  mean  that  ef  th'  Fairchilds  are 
goin'  to  be  a  Dearborn  caounty  fam'ly,  V  hole 
their  heads  up  amongst  folks,  ther's  got  to  be  a 
change  o'  some  sort  right  away.  Your  father's  let 
everything  slide  year  after  year,  till  there's  pesky 
little  lef  naow  to  slide  on.  He's  behine  hand  agin 
in  money  matters,  even  with  th'  Pratt  mortgage  on 
top  of  t'others.  What's  wuss,  it's  in  everybody's 
maouth.  They've  left  him  off  th'  board  at  th'  cheese- 
factory  this  year,  even ;  of  course  they  say,  it's  cuz 
he  never  'tended  th'  meetin's — but  I  knaow  better ! 
It's  jis  cuz  Lemuel  Fairchild's  goin'  deown  hill,  'n' 
the  farm's  goin'  to  rack  'n'  ruin,  'n'  ev'rybuddy 
4 


50  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

knaows  it.  Jis'  think  of  it?  Why,  'twas  th'  Fair- 
childs  made  that  cheese-factory,  'n'  it's  allus  gone 
by  aour  name,  'n'  we  used  to  sen'  th'  milk  of  a 
hundred  'n'  thirty  caows  there — almost  as  much  as 
all  th'  rest  of  'em  put  togither — 'n'  ez  I  said  to  Le- 
ander  Crump,  when  he  was  squirmin'  raound  tryin' 
to  make  me  b'lieve  they  didn't  mean  nothin'  by 
droppin'  Lemuel  aout  o'  th'  board,  says  I —  '  no- 
buddy  ever  'spected  a  table  spoonful  o'  water  in 
aour  milk! ' — 'n'  he  colored  up,  /tell  yeh !  " 

"  No  doubt  "  said  Albert,  impassively. 

Miss  Sabrina  paused  to  mentally  retrace  her  argu- 
ment, and  see  if  this  remark  had  any  special  bearing. 
She  could  discover  none,  and  grew  a  little  angrier. 

"  Well,  then,  th'  question's  right  here.  My  father, 
your  grand  father,  made  a  name  fer  hisself,  and  a 
place  for  his  fam'ly,  here  in  Dearborn  caounty,  sec- 
ond to  nobuddy.  Fer  years  'n'  years  I  kin  remem- 
ber thet  th'  one  question  people  ast,  when  it  was 
proposed  to  dew  anything,  was  '  what  does  Seth 
Fairchild  think  'baout  it  ?  '  He  went  to  th' Senate 
twice ;  he  could  'a  gone  to  Congress  from  this  dees- 
trick  time  'n'  time  agin,  if  he'd  be'n  a  mine  to. 
Ev'rybuddy  looked  up  to  him.  When  he  died,  all 
of  a  suddent,  he  lef  Lemuel  th'  bes'  farm,  th'  bes' 
stock,  th'  bes'  farm  haouse,  fer  miles  raound.  Well, 
thet's  forty  year  ago.  I've  lived  here  threw  it  all. 
I've  swallered  my  pride  every  day  in  th'  week,  all 
thet  time.  I've  tried  to  learn  myself  a  humble  spirit 
— but  I've  hed  to  see  this  place,  and  the  fam'ly, 
going  daown,  daown,  daown  !  " 


In  the  Name  of  the  Family.  51 

There  were  tears  in  the  old  maid's  eyes  now,  as 
she  spoke,  tears  of  mortification  and  revolt  against 
her  helplessness,  for  she  seemed  to  read  the  failure 
of  her  appeal  in  the  placid  face  of  her  nephew,  with 
its  only  decent  pretence  of  interest.  She  went  on, 
with  a  rising  voice : 

"  You  knaow  a  little  of  haow  things  hev'  gone, 
though  you've  allus  took  precious  good  pains  to 
knaow  ez  little  ez  yeh  could.  You  knaow  that  when 
you  were  a  boy  you  were  a  rich  man's  son,  with  yer 
pony,  'n'  yer  dancin'  lessons,  'n'  yer  college  eddica- 
tion  ;  'n'  yer  mother  dressed  well,  'n'  had  a  kerridge, 
'n'  visited  with  th'  bes'  people  of  Albany,  people 
who  were  my  friends  tew  when  I  used  to  go  to 
Albany  with  yer  grandfather.  'N'  what  hev  we 
come  to  ?  Yer  mother  slaved  her  life  aout,  lost  all 
her  ambition,  lost  all  her  pride,  saw  things  goin'  to 
th'  dogs  and  didn't  knaow  haow  to  stop  'em — sakes 
forbid  thet  I  should  say  anything  agin  Sissly  ;  she 
did  all  she  could  ;  p'raps  'twould  'ev  gone  different 
if  she'd  be'n  a  different  kine  o'  woman,  p'raps  not ; 
there's  no  use  talkin'  'baout  thet.  'N'  ef  I'd  hed  my 
say,  tew,  maybe  things'd  be'n  different ;  but  its  ez  it 
is,  'n'  it's  no  use  cryin'  over  spilt  milk. 

"  Father  never  meant  to  be  hard  with  me.  When 
he  lef  me  nothin'  but  a  living  aout  o'  th'  farm,  he 
expected,  everybuddy  expected,  my  Aunt  Sabrina'd 
leave  me  a  clean  sixty  thaousand  dollars  when  she 
died.  She  was  an  ole  woman,  'n'  a  widow,  'n'  she  hed 
no  childern.  She'd  allus  promised  my  father  thet  if 
I  was  named  after  her — confaound  her  name! — I 


52  Settts  Brother's   Wife. 

shaould  be  her  heir.  'N'  then,  less'n  a  year  after  his 
death,  what  does  the  old  huzzy  up  'n'  do  but  marry 
some  fortune  hunter  young  enough  to  be  her  son, 
'n'  give  him  every  cent  she  hed  in  the  world.  He 
led  her  a  fine  dance  of  it,  tew,  'n'  serve  her  right ! 
But  there  I  was,  lef  'thaout  a  thing  'cep  a  roof  over 
my  head. 

"  'N'  then  Lemuel,  nothin'  ud  do  but  he  must  go 
to  Californy  when  the  gold  cry  riz,  'n'  no  sooner  'd 
he  git  there  than  he  was  homesick  'n'  hed  to  come 
back ;  'n'  when  he  got  back,  'n'  begun  to  hear  what 
fortunes  them  who'd  gone  aout  with  him  were  a 
making,  than  he  must  start  aout  again.  But  where 
it  'd  be'n  wilderness  a  few  months  b'fore,  he  faound 
cities  naow,  'n'  ev'ry  chance  took  up ;  then  he  got 
robbed  o'  all  his  money,  'n'  hed  to  borrer,  'n'  then  he 
took  chills  'n'  fever  off  th'  isthmus,  n'  hed  to  lay  in 
quarantine  fer  weeks,  on  'caount  o'  th'  yellah  fever ; 
it  'd  be'n  a  poor  year  on  the  farm,  'n'  when  he  got 
back,  it  took  ev'ry  cent  of  his  ready-money  to  set 
himself  right. 

"  From  thet  day  to  this,  his  Californy  luck  hez 
stuck  to  him  like  death  to  a  nigger,  tell  here,  to-day, 
the  Fitches  don't  think  it  wuth  while  to  come  to 
your  poor  mother's  fun'ral — I  kin  remember  Lije 
Fitch  when  he  was  glad  enough  to  beg  beans  o'  my 
father  fer  seed — 'n'  I  m  wearing  borrered  mournin' 
of  Sarah  Andrewses,  a  mile  tew  big  for  me!  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  I've  been  told  all  this  a  good 
many  times,  Aunt  Sabrina,"  said  Albert,  as  his  aunt 
stopped  and  glared  at  him  trembling  with  the  ex- 


In  the  Name  of  the  Family.  53 

citement  of  her  peroration.  "  There's  nothing  very 
pleasant  in  it,  for  either  of  us,  to  listen  to  or  talk 
about ;  but  I  don't  see  that  there's  anything  more 
than  I've  heard  over  and  over  again,  except  about 
your  having  on  another  woman's  dress,  and  I  don't 
assume  that  I  am  expected  to  interfere  about  that !  " 

Poor  Miss  Sabrina  was  too  deeply  moved,  and 
too  much  in  earnest,  to  note  the  sarcastic  levity  un- 
derlying the  lawyer's  conclusion.  She  caught  only 
the  general  sense  of  a  negative  response,  and  looked 
at  her  nephew  steadily  with  a  gaze  half-indignant, 
half  appealing. 

"  Then  you  won't  dew  anything,  ay  ?  "  she  asked 
at  last. 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  far  from  saying  that.  Thafs 
another  thing.  You  send  for  me,  saying  that  you 
have  an  important  communication  to  make  to  me — 
at  least,  I  assume  that  it  is  important,  from  the  cir- 
cumstances surrounding  the  request.  I  come,  and 
you  first  insist  that  I  know  as  well  as  you  do  what 
you  mean,  and  then,  when  I  demur,  you  rehearse  all 
the  unfortunate  details  of  my  father's  failure  in  life. 
I  suggest  that  these  are  already  tolerably  familiar 
to  me,  and  this  mild  statement  you  construe  as  a 
definite  refusal  on  my  part  to  do  something — what, 
I  don't  know." 

"  I  declare,  Albert,  you  better  send  in  a  bill  fer 
givin'  me  this  consultation.  /  never  knew  a  son 
who  could  take  his  father's  ruin  'n'  his  fam'ly's  dis- 
grace so  cool,  before.  I  s'pose  that's  th'  lawyer  of 
it,  tew!" 


54  Settts  Brother's   Wife. 

"  Perhaps  it's  an  advantage  that  some  one  of  the 
family  should  keep  cool,  Aunt,  and  look  at  things 
one  by  one,  in  their  true  relation.  Now,  if  you  have 
any  proposition  to  make  to  me,  any  plan  to  present 
for  my  consideration,  I  should  like  to  hear  it — be- 
cause really  this  other  style  of  conversation  is  profit- 
less beyond  description.  In  a  word,  what  do  you 
want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  want  yeh  to  do  ? "  The  old  maid 
leaned  forward  and  put  a  thin,  mitted  hand  on  Al- 
bert's knee,  looking  eagerly  into  his  face,  and  speak- 
ing almost  shrilly.  "  I  want  yeh  to  take  this  farm, 
to  come  here  to  live,  to  make  it  a  rich  gentleman's 
home  agin !  to  put  the  Fairchilds  up  once  more 
where  my  father  left  'em." 

"Yes?"  was  the  provokingly  unenthusiastic  re- 
sponse. 

Miss  Sabrina  felt  that  she  had  failed.  She  put 
her  spectacles  on,  and  took  the  Bible  into  her  lap, 
as  if  to  ,say  that  she  washed  her  hands  of  all  mun- 
dane matters.  But  it  did  not  suit  Albert  to  regard 
the  interview  as  closed. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  don't  seem  to  see  at  all, 
Aunt,"  he  said.  "  That  is,  that  Dearborn  County  is 
relatively  not  altogether  the  most  important  section 
of  the  Republic,  and  that  it  is  quite  possible  for  a 
man  to  win  public  recognition  or  attain  professional 
distinction  in  other  communities  which  might  recon- 
cile him  to  a  loss  of  prestige  here.  It  may  sound 
like  heresy  to  you,  but  I  am  free  to  admit  that  the 
good  opinion  of  the  business  men  of  New  York  city, 


In  the  Name  of  the  Family.  55 

where  I  am  regarded  as  a  successful  sort  of  man, 
seems  to  me  to  outweigh  all  possible  questions  as 
to  how  I  am  regarded  by  Elhanan  Pratt  and  Le- 
ander  Crump  and— and  that  Baptist  gentleman,  for 
instance,  whom  you  had  here  to-day.  The  world 
has  grown  so  large,  my  dear  aunt,  since  your  day, 
that  there  are  thousands  upon  thousands  of  Ameri- 
cans now  who  go  all  their  lives  without  ever  once 
thinking  about  Dearborn  County's  opinion.  Of 
course  I  can  understand  how  deeply  you  must  feel 
what  you  regard  as  a  social  decline  in  the  eyes  of 
your  neighbours.  But  truly,  it  does  not  specially  af- 
fect me.  They  are  not  my  neighbours ;  if  I  seem  to 
them  to  be  of  less  importance  than  I  was  in  my 
boyhood,  when  I  had  a  pony,  I  can't  help  it,  and  I 
am  sure  I  don't  want  to.  Frankly,  to  use  my 
mother's  old  phrase,  I  don't  care  a  cotton  hat  for 
their  opinion  good,  bad,  or  indifferent.  It  is  this, 
I  think,  which  you  leave  out  of  your  calculation." 

Miss  Sabrina  had  listened,  with  the  Book  opened 
only  by  a  finger's  width.  The  elaborate  irony  of  her 
nephew's  words  had  escaped  her,  but  she  saw  a 
gleam  of  hope  in  his  willingness  to  discuss  the  mat- 
ter at  all. 

"  But  then  this  is  the  home  o'  the  Fairchilds ; 
the  fam'ly  belongs  to  Dearborn  Caounty ;  father 
was  allus  spoken  of  ez  Seth  Fairchild  o'  Dearborn, 
jis'  as  much  ez — ez  Silas  Wright  o'  Dutchess." 

"  Of  course  that  last  is  a  powerful  argument,"  said 
Albert  with  a  furtive  smile  twitching  at  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  "But,  after  all,  the  county  family 


56  Setlis  Brothers   Wife. 

idea  doesn't  seem  to  attract  me  much.  Why,  aunt, 
do  you  know  that  your  grandfather  Roger  was  a 
journeyman  shoemaker,  who  walked  all  the  way  here 
from  Providence.  There  was  nothing  incongruous 
in  his  son  becoming  a  Senator.  Very  well ;  if  you 
have  a  state  of  society  where  sudden  elevations  of 
this  sort  occur,  there  will  inevitably  be  correspond- 
ing descents — just  as  lean  streaks  alternate  with  fat 
in  the  bacon  of  commerce.  The  Fairchilds  went  up 
— they  come  down.  They  have  exhausted  the  soil. 
Do  you  see  ?" 

"  Nao !  I  don't  see  a  bit !  'N'  I  b'lieve  at  heart 
you're  jis'  ez  praoud  ez  I  be  ! " 

"  Proud  ?  Yes !  Proud  of  myself,  proud  of  my 
practice,  proud  of  my  position.  But  proud  because 
three  or  four  hundred  dull  countrymen,  seeing  my 
cows  sleek,  my  harness  glossy,  my  farm  well  in  order, 
and  knowing  that  my  grandfather  had  been  a  State 
Senator,  would  consider  me  a  '  likely  '  man — no,  not 
at  all." 

Albert  rose  at  this  to  go,  and  added,  as  he  turned 
the  door-knob : 

"As  soon  as  he's  equal  to  it,  Aunt  Sabrina,  I'll 
get  father  to  go  over  his  affairs  with  me,  and  I'll  try 
and  straighten  them  out  a  trifle.  I  dare  say  we  c"an 
find  some  way  out  of  the  muddle." 

"  But  yeh  won't  take  up  the  thing  yerself  ?  Yeh 
won't  dew  what  I  wanted  yeh  tew  ?  " 

The  lawyer  smiled,  and  said :  "  What  really  ? 
Come  here  and  be  a  farmer  ?  " 

Miss  Sabrina  had  risen,  too,  and  came  toward  her 


In  the  Name  of  the  Family.  57 

nephew.  "  No  "  she  said,  "  not  a  farmer.  Be  a 
country  gentleman,  'n' — 'n' — a  Congressman !  " 

Albert  smiled  again,  and  left  the  room.  He  smiled 
to  himself  going  down  the  stairs,  and  narrowly  es- 
caped forgetting  to  change  his  expression  of  coun- 
tenance when  he  entered  the  living  room,  where 
were  sitting  people  who  had  not  entirely  forgotten 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  house  of  mourning. 

For  Albert  had  a  highly  interesting  idea  in  his 
mind,  both  interesting  and  diverting.  Curiously 
enough,  he  had  begun  developing  it  from  the  mo- 
ment when  his  aunt  first  disclosed  her  ambition  for 
him.  At  the  last  moment,  in  a  blind  way  she  had 
suggested  the  first  political  office  that  entered  her 
mind  as  an  added  bribe.  She  could  not  know  that 
her  astute  nephew  had,  from  the  first  suggestion  of 
her  plan,  been  trying  to  remember  whether  it  was 
Jay  and  Adams  Counties,  or  Jay  and  Morgan,  that 
were  associated  with  Dearborn  in  the  Congressional 
district ;  or  that,  when  she  finally  in  despair  said 
"  Be  a  country  gentleman  and  a  Congressman,"  his 
brain  had  already  turned  over  a  dozen  projects  in  as 
many  seconds,  every  one  Congressional. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   THREE   BROTHERS. 

AFTER  the  early  supper  of  stale  bread,  saltless 
butter,  dark  dried  apple  sauce,  and  chippy  cake  had 
been  disposed  of,  Lemuel  returned  to  his  rocking 
chair  by  the  stove,  Aunt  Sabrina  and  Isabel  took 
seats,  each  at  a  window,  and  read  by  the  fading 
light,  and  Albert  put  on  his  hat,  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  went  out.  His  brother  John  stood  smoking  a 
pipe  in  the  yard,  leaning  against  the  high  well-curb, 
his  hands  deep  in  his  pantaloons  pocket,  and  his 
feet  planted  far  to  the  front  and  wide  apart.  Seth 
was  coming  from  the  barns  toward  the  well,  with  a 
bucket  in  his  hand.  Albert  walked  across  to  the 
curb,  and  the  three  brothers  were  alone  together 
for  the  first  time  in  years. 

"  It  does  one  good  to  be  out  of  doors  such  an 
evening  as  this,"  said  Albert.  "  It  seems  to  me  it 
would  be  better  if  father  would  get  out  in  the  open 
air  more,  instead  of  sitting  cooped  up  over  that  stove 
all  the  while." 

"  When  a  man's  been  out  in  the  open  air,  rain  or 
shine,  snow  or  blow,  for  fifty  years,  he  ought  to  have 
earned  the  right  to  stay  inside,  if  he  wants  to. 
That's  about  the  only  reward  there  is  at  the  end 
of  a  farmer's  life,"  answered  Seth,  turning  the  calf- 


The    Three  Brothers.  59 

bucket  upside  down  beside  John,  and  sitting  on  it. 
Seth  had  his  old  clothes  on  once  more,  and  perhaps 
there  was  some  consciousness  of  the  contrast  be- 
tween his  apparel  and  that  of  his  black-clad  breth- 
ren in  the  truculent  tone  of  his  reply. 

John  had  nodded  at  Albert  on  his  approach,  and 
thrust  his  feet  a  trifle  further  forward.  He  still 
stood  silent,  looking  meditatively  at  the  row  of  pop- 
lars on  the  other  side  of  the  road  through  rings  of 
pipe  smoke. 

"  So  you  don't  think  much  of  farm  work,  eh  ?  " 
said  Albert. 

"  Who  does  ?  "  replied  Seth,  sententiously. 

A  considerable  period  of  silence  ensued.  Albert 
had  never  had  a  very  high  idea  of  his  younger 
brothers'  conversational  qualities,  and  had  rarely 
known  how  to  talk  easily  with  them,  but  to-night  it 
seemed  a  greater  task  than  ever.  He  offered  them 
cigars,  in  a  propitiatory  way.  Seth  accepted  and 
lit  one  ;  John  said  "  Thanks,  I  prefer  a  pipe,"  and 
silence  reigned  again. 

It  was  twilight  now,  and  in  the  gathering  dusk 
there  was  no  sign  of  motion  about,  nor  any  sound 
save  the  tinkle  of  a  sheep-bell  in  the  pasture  oppo- 
site. 

John's  pipe  burned  out,  and  Albert  pressed  a 
cigar  upon  him  again. 

"  I  want  you  to  try  them,"  he  said,  almost  plead- 
ingly, "I'm  sure  you'll  like  them.  They  are  a 
special  brand  the  steward  at  the  Union  League  gets 
for  me." 


60  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

This  time  John  consented,  and  he  seemed  to  feel 
that  the  act  involved  a  responsibility  to  talk,  for 
he  said,  with  an  effort  at  amiability  as  he  struck  a 
match  : 

"  Your  wife  seems  to  be  looking  very  well." 

"Yes,  Isabel's  health  is  perfect,  and  it  always 
benefits  her  to  get  out  in  the  country.  That's  a 
kind  of  Irishism  isn't  it  ?  I  mean  it  makes  her  good 
health  more  obvious." 

"  Good  health  is  a  great  thing,"  John  answered. 

The  conversation  was  running  emptings  again, 
almost  at  the  start.  Albert  made  a  heroic  effort  to 
strengthen  it. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  regular  quakers*  meeting,"  he 
said,  briskly.  "  We  see  each  other  so  seldom,  we 
are  almost  strangers  when  we  do  meet.  I  want  to 
be  frank  with  you,  come  now,  and  you  should  be 
frank  with  me.  You  have  something  on  your  minds, 
I  can  see.  Isn't  it  something  I  ought  to  know  ?  " 

Seth  spoke  again  :  "  Perhaps  on  the  evening  of 
one's  mother's  funeral  it  isn't  to  be  expected  that 
even  brothers  should  feel  chatty." 

The  village  journalist  felt  the  injustice  of  this 
comment  from  the  younster. 

"  No,  Seth,"  he  said,  "  Don't  snap  Albert  up  in 
that  fashion.  I  dare  say  he  feels  the  thing,  in  his 
own  way,  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us.  You  are  right, 
Albert ;  there  is  something,  and  I'll  tell  you  plainly 
what  it  is.  Do  you  see  those  poplars  over  there  ? 
In  the  morning  their  shadows  Come  almost  to  our 
front  door.  Father  planted  them  with  his  own  hands. 


The   Three  Brothers.  61 

When  I  was  a  boy,  I  used  to  play  over  there,  and 
climb  up  on  to  the  bolls,  and  pretend  I  was  to  build 
houses  there,  like  in  Swiss  Family  Robinson.  Well, 
that  land  passed  out  of  our  hands  so  long  ago — it's 
been  an  old  story  for  years.  Do  you  see  the  roof 
of  the  red  school-house  over  back  of  the  hill  ? " 
turning  toward  the  South.  "  Or  no,  the  light  is  too 
poor  now,  but  you  know  where  it  is.  When  I  used 
to  cut  'cross  lots  to  school  there,  I  went  the  whole 
way  over  father's  land.  Now,  if  I  wanted  to  go 
there,  how  many  people  would  I  trespass  on,  Seth  ?  " 

"  Ferguson  owns  the  clover  meadow,  and  Pratt 
has  the  timothy  meadow,  and  what  we  used  to  call 
the  berry  patch  belongs  to  Sile  Thomas  ;  he's  begun 
to  build  a  house  on  it." 

"  Precisely.  Why,  even  the  fence  close  to  where 
mother's  grave  is,  divides  ours  from  another  man's 
lartd  now." 

"  Sabrina  spoke  to  me  about  all  this  this  after- 
noon," said  Albert  hesitatingly,  u  and  I  tried,  as  I  • 
often  have  before,  to  make  her  understand  that  that 
must  be  the  natural  course  of  affairs,  so  long  as  the 
East  tries  to  compete  with  the  West  in  farming." 

"  Well  that  may  be  all  right,  but  Elhanan  Pratt 
seems  to  manage  to  compete  with  the  West,  as  you 
call  it,  and  so  do  the  Fergusons  and  all  the  rest  of 
them.  We  are  the  only  ones  who  appear  to  get 
left,  every  time.  Of  course,  it's  somebody's  fault. 
Father's  been  a  poor  manager,  no  use  of  denying 
that.  But  that  doesn't  make  it  any  the  easier  to 
bear.  Father  hardly  knows  which  way  to  turn  for 


62  Settts  Brothers    Wife. 

money  ;  he  might  have  scraped  through  the  year  if 
hops  had  had  a  good  season,  but  at  nine  cents  a 
pound  it  was  hardly  worth  while  to  take  them  to  the 
depot-  You  can't  clear  expenses  at  less  than  eleven 
cents.  And  then  if  he  does  have  a  fairly  decent 
year,  his  hop-pickers  are  always  the  most  drunken, 
idle  gang  of  them  all,  who  eat  their  heads  off,  and 
steal  more  fruit  and  chickens  than  they  pick  boxes, 
and  if  anybody's  hops  are  spoiled  in  the  kiln,  you 
can  bet  on  their  being  Fairchild's,  every  time.  And 
three  years  ago,  it  was  the  hop  merchant  who  failed, 
just  at  the  opportune  moment,  and  let  Father  in  for 
a  whole  years'  profit  and  labor.  Of  course,  it's  all 
bad  luck,  mismanagement,  whatever  you  like  to  call 
it,  and  it  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose.  But  it  makes 
a  man  sour,  and  it  broke  poor  mother's  heart.  And 
then  here's  Seth." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me,  I  can  stand  it,  I  guess,  if  the 
rest  can.  I'm  not  complaining "  came  from  the 
figure  on  the  bucket — only  dimly  to  be  seen  now,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  curb,  and  the  increasing  darkness. 

"  Here's  Seth,"  continued  John,  without  noting 
the  disclaimer.  "  You  and  I  had  some  advantages — 
of  course,  mine  were  not  to  be  compared  with  yours, 
but  still  I  was  given  a  chance,  such  as  it  was  and  I 
don't  know  that  I  would  trade  what  I  learned  at 
work  during  college  years  for  a  college  education — 
but  this  poor  boy,  who's  thought  about  him,  who's 
given  him  a  chance  to  show  what's  in  him  ?  He's 
been  allowed  to  come  up  as  he  could,  almost  like  any 
farm  laborer.  His  mother  tried  to  do  her  little,  but 


The   Three  Brothers.  63 

what  spirit  did  she  have  for  it,  and  what  time  did 
the  drudgery  here  give  him  ?  Thank  God  !  He's  had  • 
the  stuff  in  him  to  work  at  education  himself,  and 
he's  got  the  making  of  the  best  man  of  us  three. 
But  it's  no  thanks  to  you.  And  thafs  why  we  feel 
hard,  Albert.  Nobody  supposes  you  could  make  a 
good  farmer  and  manager  out  of  father;  nobody 
blames  you  for  a  bad  hop  season,  or  the  dishonesty 
of  Biggs.  But  I  do  say  that  of  us  three  brothers 
there's  one  who  frets  and  worries  over  the  thing,  and 
though  he's  a  poor  man,  does  all  he  can  afford  to  do, 
and  more  too,  to  help  make  it  better ;  and  there's 
another,  young,  ambitious,  capable,  whose  nose  is 
held  down  to  the  grindstone,  and  the  best  years  of 
whose  life  are  being  miserably  spent  in  a  hopeless 
wrestling  with  debt  and  disaster;  and  there's  a  third 
brother,  the  oldest  brother,  rich,  easy,  enjoying  all 
the  luxuries  of  life,  who  don't  give  a  damn  about  it 
all !  That's  what  I  say,  and  if  you  don't  like  it,  you 
needn't ! " 

The  silence  which  ensued  was  of  the  kind  that  can 
be  felt.  The  two  cigars  at  the  corners  of  the  old  curb 
glowed  intermittently  in  the  darkness.  John's  had 
gone  out  during  his  speech,  and  as  he  re-lighted  it, 
the  glare  of  the  match  showed  an  excited,  indignant 
face.  There  was  no  room  for  doubt,  after  the  mo- 
mentary exhibit  which  the  red  light  made,  that  John 
was  very  much  in  earnest. 

Albert  was  thinking  laboriously  on  his  answer. 
Meantime,  he  said,  to  fill  the  interval  "  Do  you  like 
the  cigar?" 


64  Settts  Brothers    Wife. 

"  Yes ;  a  fifteen  center,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Albert  had  it  in  his  mind  to  say  truthfully  that  he 
paid  $180  per  thousand,  but  the  fear  of  invidious 
comparisons  rose  before  him  in  time,  and  he  said 
"  About  that,  I  think." 

He  waited  a  moment,  still  meditating,  and  threw 
out  another  stop-gap :  "  It's  curious  how  the  rhe- 
torical habit  grows  on  a  man  who  writes  leading 
articles.  I  noticed  that  you  used  three  adjectives 
every  time,  the  regular  cumulative  thing,  you 
know." 

"  Maybe  so  ;  it  would  be  more  to  the  purpose  to 
hear  what  you  think  about  the  spirit  of  my  oration  ; 
the  form  doesn't  matter  so  much." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  John,"  said  Albert,  slowly, 
still  feeling  his  way,  "  to  speak  frankly,  no  doubt 
there's  a  good  deal  in  what  you  say.  I  feel  that 
there  is.  But  you  ought  to  consider  that  it  isn't 
easy  for  a  man  living  in  a  great  city,  immersed  in 
business  cares,  and  engrossed  in  the  labors  of  his 
profession,  to  realise  all  these  things,  and  see  them 
as  you,  who  are  here  on  the  ground,  see  them.  It's 
hardly  fair  to  attack  me  as  heartless,  when  you  pre- 
sent these  facts  to  me  for  the  first  time." 

"For  the  first  time!  You  ought  to  have  seen 
them  for  yourself  without  presenting.  And  then 
you  said  Sabrina  had  often  discussed  the  subject 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  but  her  point  of  view  is  always  family  dig- 
nity, the  keeping  up  of  the  Fairchilds'  homestead  in 
baronial  state,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  You  should 


The   Three  Brothers.  65 

have  heard  her  this  afternoon,  telling  me  how  her 
father's  name  used  to  be  coupled  with  Dearborn 
County,  just  as  Silas  Wright's  was  with  Dutchess — 
either  Dutchess  or  Delaware,  I  forget  which  she 
said — but  it  was  very  funny." 

"  Sabrina  and  I  haven't  spoken  for  I  don't  know 
how  long,  and  we're  not  likely  to  again  in  a  hurry, 
but  for  all  that  I'm  bound  to  say  I  wish  some  others 
of  the  family  had  as  much  pride  as  she's  got,"  said 
John.  "  Whatever  else  she  may  be,  she's  as  loyal 
and  as  faithful  to  the  family  idea,  as  jealous  of  the 
family's  name,  as  any  old  Spanish  grandee.  And  I 
confess  the  Silas  Wright  thing  doesn't  seem  funny 
to  me  at  all — any  fellow  with  the  right  kind  of  a  heart 
in  him  would  feel  that  it  was  deucedly  pathetic — 
the  poor  old  maid  clinging  through  the  shipwreck 
to  that  one  spar  of  support — the  recollection  of  a 
time  when  her  father  was  bigger  than  his  county. 
Such  things  oughtn't  to  be  laughed  at." 

Albert  lost  his  patience.  "  Confound  it,  man,  do 
you  want  to  force  me  into  a  quarrel — this  night  of 
all  others  !  By  George,  was  there  ever  such  a  brace 
of  brothers !  I  come  out  here  to  get  you  by  your- 
selves, to  talk  over  with  you  some  plans  that  have 
occurred  to  me  for  setting  things  right  here — and  I 
haven't  had  a  civil  answer  yet  from  either  of  you. 
First  it's  the  youngster  who  scowls  and  snarls  at  me, 
and  then  you  read  me  lofty  lectures  on  my  behavior, 
and  then  both  together  in  concerted  condemnation. 
No  wonder  I  come  rarely  to  the  farm !  It's  enough 
to  sicken  any  man  of  family  ties,  to  be  bullyragged 
5 


66  SetKs  Brothers    Wife. 

in  this  way.  I've  a  good  mind  to  tell  you  you  can 
all  go  to  the  devil,  and  be  hanged  to  you  ! " 

The  figure  on  the  bucket  rose  to  its  feet  with  a 
spring,  so  energetically  that  there  seemed  a  menace 
in  the  action.  The  village  editor  restrained  this 
movement  with  a  quiet  hand,  and  a  whispered 
"  Keep  cool,  Seth."  Then  he  said  with  exaggerated 
calmness  of  voice  : 

"  Personally,  perhaps  I  shouldn't  mind  much  if 
you  did.  But  there  are  others  to  look  after,  and  so, 
before  you  do,  it  might  be  worth  while  to  learn  what 
the  fine  alternative  was  to  have  been.  It  would  be 
a  great  pity  to  not  even  to  hear  these  noble  plans 
with  which  you  were  primed,  you  say,  when  you 
came  out." 

"  But  you  must  admit,  John,  that  you  and  Seth  to- 
night have  been  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a 
saint." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  admit  that.     Go  on  !  " 

"  Well,  you've  made  it  a  little  difficult  for  me  to 
develop  my  plans — they  were  scarcely  formed  in  my 
mind.  In  a  general  way,  I  wanted  to  consult  you 
about  freeing  the  farm,  perhaps  buying  back  some 
of  the  original  land  that  has  gone,  putting  the  house 
in  shape  again,  improving  the  stock,  placing  Father 
and  Sabrina  beyond  the  chance  of  ever  being  embar- 
rassed again — and — and — doing  something  for  Seth." 

"  Nobody  wantsyou — "  began  the  impatient  Seth. 

"Youngster,  you  shut  up  !  "  said  John,  again  using 
the  quieting  hand.  "  Do  you  really  mean  all  this, 
Albert  ?  " 


The   Three  Brothers.  67 

"  I  should  scarcely  have  spoken  in  detail  as  I  have, 
otherwise,"  answered  the  lawyer  loftily. 

"  Well,  this — "  said  John,  "  this  takes  a  fellow's 
breath  away." 

"  If  you  hadn't  been  in  such  haste  to  impute  bad 
motives  and  convict  me  without  judge  or  jury,  per- 
haps the  effect  of  my  plans  might  not  have  been  so 
overpowering." 

"  Yes,  we  did  you  an  injustice,  Albert,  clearly  we 
did.  We  were  full  of  the  idea  that  all  these  troubles 
rolled  off  you  like  water  off  a  duck's  back.  It  seems 
that  was  our  mistake.  But — what's  your  scheme  ?  " 

"  Definitely,  I  have  none,  except  to  do  all  I  can, 
in  the  way  we  may  decide  will  be  best  all  around.  I 
have  been  thinking  some  of  coming  to  live  here  my- 
self, say  from  May  to  November  of  each  year,  and 
taking  the  farm  into  my  own  hands." 

"  H'm — m  !  That  might  have  its  advantages,  per- 
haps— but — " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  mean.  If  I  do,  everybody's 
rights  shall  be  respected.  We'll  fix  that  beyond 
question,  to  your  satisfaction,  before  a  thing  is  done." 

"  I  don't  care  about  myself,  particularly ;  you  know 
that :  but  then  there's  Seth,  you  know — we've  always 
figured  on  the  farm  as  his.  It's  true  he  don't  want  to 
be  a  farmer,  that  he  hates  the  whole  thing,  but  still 
that  represents  all  his  capital,  so  to  speak,  and — 

"  My  dear  John,  that  shall  all  be  arranged.  I  am 
a  childless  man — probably  always  shall  be.  As  long 
as  Father  lives  the  farm  shall  remain  in  his  name. 
Either  his  will  can  be  in  my  favor,  or  I  can  manage 


68  Settis  Brother's    Wife. 

the  farm  as  a  trustee  for  all  three  of  us,  after  he's 
gone.  In  either  case,  you  shall  both  be  protected 
in  turn  by  my  will — absolutely  protected.  Mean- 
time, what  do  you  want  me  to  do  for  Seth  ?  What 
does  he  want  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing  needs  to  be  done  for  me,"  began  Seth, 
"  I  can—" 

"Now,  youngster,  wz//you  be  quiet !  "  said  John, 
in  mock  despair.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do  for 
Seth,  and  do  easily.  Get  him  a  place  on  some  de- 
cent newspaper,  in  New  York  or  one  of  the  larger 
cities  of  the  State,  and  let  him  have  money  enough 
to  eke  out  a  small  salary  at  first,  so  that  he  can  be- 
gin at  editorial  work  instead  of  tramping  up  through 
the  reporter's  treadmill,  as  I  had  to.  That's  all 
Seth'll  ask,  and  it  will  be  the  making  of  him." 

"  Begin  at  editorial  work — Seth  ?     Nonsense !  " 

"  No  nonsense  about  it.  For  two  years  back  Seth 
has  been  doing  some  of  the  best  work  on  my  paper 
— work  that's  been  copied  all  over  the  State." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  what  a  literary  family  we  are  !  " 
said  the  lawyer.  "  Does  Aunt  Sabrina  write,  too  ? 
Perhaps  those  love  poems  you  have  on  the  last  page 
are  hers." 

John  continued  without  noticing  the  interjection. 
"  Do  you  remember  that  long  article  on  Civil  Service 
Reform  we  had  in  the  Banner  last  January?" 

"I  don't  think  I  do,  John.  To  be  frank,  although 
we  enjoy  having  you  send  us  the  Banner  immensely, 
occasionally  it  happens  that  the  stress  of  professional 
duties  compels  me  to  miss  reading  a  number." 


The   Three  Brothers.  69 

"Well  that  article  was  reprinted  in  all  the  big 
papers,  from  Boston  to  Chicago.  I  never  knew  any 
other  thing  from  a  little  village  paper  to  travel  so 
far,  or  attract  so  much  attention.  I  had  lots  of  let- 
ters about  it,  too.  That  article  was  Seth's — all  his 
own.  I  didn't  change  a  word  in  it.  And  he's 
hardly  seen  any  thing  of  the  world  yet,  either." 

The  lawyer  was  heard  chuckling,  when  John's  voice 
died  away  in  the  darkness.  The  cigars  had  long 
since  burned  out,  and  the  men  could  with  difficulty 
see  one  another.  The  two  younger  brothers  waited, 
the  one  surprised,  the  other  increasingly  indignant, 
to  learn  the  cause  of  Albert's  hilarity. 

"  Do  you  realise,  John,"  he  said  at  last,  with  mer- 
riment still  in  his  voice,  "  what  a  delightful  commen- 
tary on  Civil  Service  Reform  your  words  make. 
The  best  article  on  that  doctrine  is  written  by  a 
youngster  who  has  never  left  the  farm,  who  doesn't 
know  the  difference  between  a  Custom  House  and  a 
letter-box  on  a  lamp-post !  Ho,  ho,  I  must  tell  that 
to  Chauncey  when  I  see  him." 

An  hour  later,  John  and  Seth  still  leaned  against 
the  mossy  curb,  smoking  and  talking  over  the  words 
of  their  elder  brother,  who  sometime  before  had 
gone  in  to  avoid  the  dew-fall. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  have  misjudged  him,  after  all," 
said  Seth.  "  I'm  almost  ashamed  to  accept  his 
favors,  after  the  way  I  pitched  into  him." 

"  I  wonder  what  his  scheme  really  is,"  mused  the 
more  experienced  village  editor. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
ALBERT'S  PLANS. 

IT  became  generally  known,  before  Sunday  came 
again,  that  Albert  was  to  take  the  farm,  and  that 
Seth  was  to  go  to  the  city — known  not  only  along 
the  rough,  lonesome  road  leading  over  the  Burfield 
hills,  which  had  once  been  a  proud  turnpike,  with 
hospitable  taverns  at  every  league,  and  the  rumbling 
of  great  coaches  and  the  horn  of  the  Postboy  as 
echoes  of  its  daily  life  of  bustle  and  profit,  and  now 
was  a  solitary  thoroughfare  to  no  place  in  particu- 
lar, with  three  or  four  gaunt  old  farmhouses,  scowl- 
ing in  isolation,  to  the  mile — not  only  on  this  road, 
and  at  the  four  corners  below,  but  even  at  Thessaly 
people  learned  of  the  coming  change  as  if  by  magic, 
and  discussed  it  as  a  prime  sensation.  It  need  not 
be  added  that  the  story  grew  greatly  in  telling — 
grew  too  ponderous  to  remain  an  entity,  and  divided 
itself  into  several  varying  and,  ultimately,  fiercely 
conflicting  sections. 

The  Misses  Cheesborough  had  the  best  authority 
for  saying  that  Albert  had  acted  in  the  most  malig- 
nant and  shameful  manner,  seizing  the  farm,  and 
turning  poor  Seth  out  of  doors,  and  it  was  more 
than  a  suspicion  in  their  minds  that  the  feeble  old 
father  would  soon  be  railroaded  off  to  an  asylum. 


Alberts  Plans.  71 

On  the  other  hand,  Miss  Tabitha  Wilcox,  who  by 
superior  vigor  and  resource  held  her  own  very  well 
against  the  combined  Misses  Cheesbrough,  knew, 
absolutely  knew,  that  Albert  had  behaved  most 
handsomely,  paying  off  all  the  mortgages,  making  a 
will  in  favor  of  John  and  Seth,  and  agreeing  to  send 
Seth  to  College,  and  what  was  more,  Miss  Tabitha 
would  not  be  surprised,  though  some  others  might 
be,  if  the  public-spirited  Albert  erected  a  new 
library  building  in  Thessaly  as  a  donation  to  the 
village. 

Between  these  two  bold  extremes  there  was  room 
for  many  shades  of  variation  in  the  story,  and  many 
original  bents  of  speculation.  Down  at  the  cheese 
factory  they  even  professed  to  have  heard  that  a 
grand  coal  deposit'  had  been  surreptitiously  dis- 
covered on  the  Fairchild  farm,  and  that  Albert  was 
merely  the  agent  of  a  syndicate  of  city  speculators 
who  would  presently  begin  buying  all  the  land 
roundabout.  Old  Elhanan  Pratt  did  not  credit  this, 
but  he  did  write  to  his  son  in  Albany,  a  clerk  in  one 
of  the  departments,  to  find  out  if  a  charter  for  a 
railroad  near  Thessaly  had  been  applied  for.  The 
worst  of  it  was,  neither  John  nor  Seth  would  talk, 
and  as  for  Albert,  he  had  gone  back  to  New  York, 
leaving  his  wife  behind. 

On  the  farm  the  fortnight  following  the  funeral 
passed  without  event.  In  the  lull  of  field  labor 
which  precedes  haying  time,  there  was  not  much  for 
Seth  to  do.  He  went  down  to  the  river  several 
times  on  solitary  fishing  trips ;  it  seemed  to  him 


72  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

now  that  he  was  saying  farewell  not  only  to  the  one 
pastime  which  never  failed  him  in  interest  or  delight, 
but  to  the  valley  itself,  and  the  river.  How  fond  he 
was  of  the  stream,  and  all  its  belongings ! 

More  like  home  than  even  the  old  farmhouse  on 
the  hill  seemed  some  of  these  haunts  to  which  he 
now  said  good-bye — the  shadowed  pool  under  the 
butternut  tree,  with  its  high  steep  bank  of  bare  clay 
where,  just  under  the  overhanging  cornice  of  sod, 
the  gypsy  swallows  had  made  holes  for  their  nests, 
and  at  the  black  base  of  which  silly  rock  bass  lay 
waiting  for  worms  and  hooks ;  the  place  further  up 
where  the  river  grew  sharply  narrow,  and  deep  dark 
water  sped  swiftly  under  an  ancient  jam  of  rotting 
logs,  and  where  by  creeping  cautiously  through  the 
alders,  and  gaining  a  foothold  on  the  birch  which 
was  the  key  to  the  obstructing  pile,  there  were  pike 
to  be  had  for  the  throwing,  and  sometimes  exciting 
struggles  with  angry  black  bass,  who  made  the  pole 
bend  like  a  whip,  and  had  an  evil  trick  of  cutting 
the  line  back  under  the  logs ;  and  then  the  broader 
stretch  of  water  below  the  ruined  paper  mill's  dam, 
where  the  wading  in  the  thigh-deep  rifts  was  so 
pleasant,  and  where  the  white  fish  would  bite  in  the 
swift  water  almost  as  gamely  as  trout,  if  one  had 
only  the  knack  of  playing  his  line  rightly  in  the 
eddies. 

A  score  of  these  spots  Seth  had  known  and  loved 
from  the  boyhood  of  twine  and  pin  hooks  ;  they 
seemed  almost  sacredly  familiar  now,  as  he  wan- 
dered up  and  down  the  stream,  dividing  his  atten- 


Albert's  Plans.  73 

tion  between  the  lures  and  wiles  of  the  angler's  art 
and  musings  on  the  vast  change  of  scene  which  was 
so  close  before  him.  Ah,  how  fair  were  the  day 
dreams  he  had  idly,  fondly  built  for  himself  here  in 
these  old  haunts,  with  kingfishers  and  water  rats  for 
sympathizers,  and  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  the 
water,  the  buzz  of  the  locusts  in  the  sun,  the  croak 
of  the  frogs  among  the  reeds,  for  a  soft  inspiring 
chorus  of  accompaniment  to  his  thoughts ! 

Now  these  dreams  were  really  to  come  true;  he 
was  actually  going  to  the  city,  to  wear  decent 
clothes,  to  mingle  as  much  as  he  chose  with  men  of 
wisdom  and  refinement,  to  attain  that  one  aim  and 
vision  of  his  life,  a  place  on  a  great  paper ! 

It  was  only  here  by  the  river,  rod  in  hand,  that  he 
seemed  able  to  fully  realize  the  beatitude  of  the 
vista.  So  as  often  as  he  could  he  came,  and  if  there 
was  a  ground  note  of  sorrow  at  leaving  these  nooks, 
this  dear  old  river,  there  was  also  a  triumphant  song 
of  exaltation  in  the  air,  the  water,  the  sunshine, 
which  he  could  not  hear  on  the  farm. 

Partly  because  these  excursions  generally  led  him 
from  the  house  before  she  made  her  appearance 
mornings,  partly  because  he  felt  vaguely  that  his 
own  victory  over  fate  involved  disappointment  for 
her,  Seth  did  not  see  much  of  Isabel  during  her  hus- 
band's absence.  So  far  as  he  knew,  she  had  taken 
the  news  of  Albert's  determination  to  move  into  the 
country  quietly  enough.  Neither  by  word  or  sign 
had  she  discovered  to  Seth  any  distaste  for  the 
prospect.  But  norte  the  less  he  had  a  half-guilty 


74  Settis  Brother  s   Wife. 

conviction  that  she  did  not  like  it,  and  that  she 
must  blame  him,  or  at  least  have  some  feeling 
against  him,  for  it.  She  had  spoken  so  earnestly  to 
him  about  the  curse  of  existence  in  the  country ; 
it  was  not  conceivable  to  him  that  she  should  sud- 
denly accept  for  herself  without  protests  or  repin- 
ing, the  very  life  she  had  thus  commiserated  with 
him  about. 

Yet  it  seemed  after  all  that  he  was  mistaken.  It 
was  the  evening  after  Albert's  return,  and  Annie  had 
come  over  after  supper,  ostensibly  to  borrow  a  wrap- 
per-pattern from  Isabel,  but  really,  it  need  not  be 
doubted,  to  hear  the  news. 

What  news  there  was  to  be  given  out  the  eldest 
brother  dispensed  to  the  family  circle,  after  Alvira 
had  cleared  away  the  "  tea-things." 

That  domestic  had  a  clear  idea  of  making  one  in 
the  circle,  and,  hastening  in  from  the  kitchen  with- 
out her  apron,  drew  up  a  chair  to  sit  with  the 
others,  and  enjoy  the  revelations  which,  from  Al- 
bert's manner  during  supper,  all  felt  to  be  impend- 
ing. But  the  invasion  of  city  manners,  which  she 
and  Milton  had  deplored  and  ridiculed  for  a  fortnight 
back,  had  an  unsuspected  bitterness  in  its  train  for 
her.  The  lawyer  looked  at  her  coolly,  as  he  struck 
a  match  on  the  under  side  of  the  mantel-piece,  and 
asked  :  "  Hadn't  you  better  go  out,  Alvira,  and  see 
that  the  chickens  don't  get  into  the  kitchen  ?  " — and 
she  flounced  out  again,  with  nose  in  air,  and  black 
eyes  flashing. 

Albert  lighted  his  cigar,  put  an  arm  chair  down 


Albert's  Plans  75 

near  the  old  rocker  in  which  his  father  sat  and  took 
his  seat.  Near  the  open  door,  overlooking  the  farm- 
yard and  the  barns,  and  full  in  the  light  from  the 
west,  sat  Miss  Sabrina,  knitting-,  and  Isabel,  with  a 
paper.  At  the  latter's  feet,  on  a  hassock,  was  Annie, 
and  Seth  sat  on  the  doorstep. 

"  Father,"  said  Albert,  "  things  have  been  arranged 
in  New  York  so  that  I  can  speak,  now,  about  the 
plans  which  I  hinted  of  ten  days  ago." 

The  old  man  nodded  his  head,  and  said  plaintively, 
"Whatever  yew  think  best,  Albert,  s'long  as  the 
boys  git  a  fair  shaow." 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  that.  My  business  is 
settled  now,  I  think,  so  that  i  can  live  here  six  or 
eight  months  in  the  year,  s'ay  from  March  till  Oc- 
tober, running  down  occasionally,  perhaps,  but  mak- 
ing this  my  residence.  I  will  take  up  all  the  mort- 
gages— perhaps  buy  back  some  of  the  old  farm,  may 
be  all  of  it.  There  are  three  or  four  ways  in  which 
this  can  be  equitably  arranged — we'll  talk  of  those 
in  detail  later  on,  some  day  when  John  can  come  up. 
I  will  have  the  carpenters  here  in  a  few  days,  to  look 
over  the  house,  and  figure  on  putting  it  in  first-class 
repair.  The  barns  will  have  to  be  new  throughout. 
There  must  be  new  machinery,  new  fences,  and  a 
pretty  thorough  weeding  out  of  the  cattle.  We 
shall  want  a  carriage  house — but  then  its  no  use  of 
enumerating,  there  is  so  much  to  be  done.  We  will 
put  some  money  into  horseflesh  down  on  Long 
Island,  and  see  if  something  can't  be  done  in  the 
way  of  a  stock-farm.  I'm  thinking  of  a  trout 


76  Set/is  Brother's   Wife. 

pond,  up  beyond  the  orchard,  in  the  ravine  there, 
too." 

"  Oh,  Albert,  this  is  what  I've  be'nprayin'  for  this 
thirty  year  !  "  It  was  Sabrina  who  spoke.  There 
were  tears  of  joy  in  her  eyes. 

Lemuel  Fairchild  seemed  rather  dazed,  not  to  say 
dismayed,  at  the  prospect  thus  bewilderingly  un- 
folded. "  It'll  cost  a  heap  o'  money,  Albert,"  he 
said  at  last,  rather  dubiously,  "  an'  I  dunnao'  'baout 
yer  gittin'  it  back  agin." 

"  That  will  be  my  look  out,"  said  the  lawyer,  con- 
fidently. "  At  any  rate,  Isabel  and  I  will  make  a 
good  home  for  you  and  Aunt  Sabrina,  as  long  as  you 
both  live.  It  will  be  a  pleasant  change  for  us  both. 
As  for  Seth— " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Annie  nestled  closer  to 
Isabel,  with  a  soft  "  Oh  yes,  about  Seth." 

"  As  for  Seth,  it's  time  he  saw  something  of  life 
besides  grubbing  here  like  a  farm-hand.  We  will 
try  and  get  along  without  him  here.  I've  talked  the 
matter  over  with  a  friend  of  mine,  the  proprietor  of 
the  Tecumseh  Chronicle and  he  is  willing  to  give  him 
a  start  there,  under  the  most  favorable  conditions. 
The  salary  will  be  small  at  first,  of  course,  but  I  will 
supplement  it  with  enough  to  give  him  a  decent 
living,  if  he  is  frugal.  After  that  of  course  it  all 
depends  on  himself." 

Seth  stood  up,  as  these  last  words  were  spoken, 
and  replied,  stammeringly.  "  You  needn't  be  afraid 
of  my  not  trying  hard,  Albert.  I'm  sure  I'm  very 
grateful  to  you.  It's  more  than  I  dared  expect  you 


Albert's  Plans.  77 

would  do  for  me."  He  pushed  his  way  past  the 
women  to  shake  hands  with  his  brother,  and  say 
again  "  It's  so  good  of  you." 

Albert  received  these  expressions  of  gratitude 
benevolently,  adding  some  words  of  advice,  and 
concluding  with  "  You  had  better  get  ready  to  start 
as  early  next  week  as  you  can.  One  of  the  Chroni- 
cle men  is  going  on  a  vacation,  and  its  Workman's 
idea  that  you  would  be  handy  in  his  absence.  You 
could  go,  say,  Wednesday,  couldn't  you  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  getting  ready  is  concerned,  I  don't 
know  that  there  is  anything  to  do  which  couldn't  be 
done  in  a  day.  But — but — " 

"  Of  course  you  will  need  .some  things.  I'll  talk 
with  you  about  that  in  the  morning.  We'll  drive 
down  to  Thessaly  day  after  to-morrow  together." 

Albert  rose  with  this  to  go  out  and  see  Milton, 
and  the  family  interview  was  at  an  end. 

Miss  Sabrina  hurried  out  to  the  kitchen,  impatient 
to  begin  discussing  with  Alvira,  as  had  been  her  wont 
for  years,  this  new  development  in  the  affairs  of  the 
household. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AT  "  M'TILDY'S  "  BEDSIDE. 

LEMUEL  FAIRCHILD  sat  still,  smoking  his  wooden 
pipe,  and  looking  absently,  straight  ahead,  into  the 
papered  wall.  This  habit  of  gazing  at  nothing  was 
familiar  to  them  all,  and  when,  at  Isabel's  sugges- 
tion, the  three  young  people  started  for  a  stroll 
through  the  orchard  path,  they  left  him  entirely 
without  ceremony.  This  was  growing  to  be  the 
rule  ;  no  one  in  the  family  now  consulted  him,  or 
took  the  trouble  to  be  polite  to  him.  He  seemed 
to  have  become  in  his  own  house  merely  an  article 
of  animated  furniture,  of  not  much  more  importance 
than  the  rough-furred  sickly  old  cat  who  dozed  his 
life  away  back  of  the  stove. 

He  sat  thus  in  solitude  for  some  time,  blankly 
studying  the  grotesque  patterns  in  the  old-fashioned 
wall-paper,  and  drawing  mechanically  at  the  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  unconscious  that  no  smoke  came.  Thus 
Miss  Sabrina  found  him  when,  after  a  more  than 
ordinarily  sharp  passage  at  arms  with  Alvira,  she 
returned  from  the  Kitchen. 

"  I  swaow  !  thet  girl  gits  wuss  tempered  'n'  more 
presumin'  ev'ry  day  o'  her  life,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Who — Annie  ?  "  asked  her  brother,  rousing  him- 
self as  if  from  a  nap. 


At  "  M'tildy  s  "  Bedside.  79 

"  Annie  !  nao  !  who's  talkin'  abaout  her  ?  " 

"  Oh  nothin',  unly  I  was  thinkin'  'baout  Annie — 
'baout  her  'n'  Seth,  yen  knaow,"  answered  Lemuel, 
apologetically. 

"  Well,  v/hat  abaout  'em  ?  "  The  query  was  dis- 
tinctly aggressive  in  tone. 

"  Oh,  nothin'  much.  I  was  sort  o'  thinkin' — well, 
you  knaow  S'briny,  haow  Sissly  used  to  lot  on  their 
makin'  a  match  of  it — 'n'  I  was  kine  o'  wond'rin'  ef 
this  here  notion  o'  Seth's  goin'  away  wouldn't  knock 
it  all  in  th'  head." 

"  Well  ?  "  Miss  Sabrina's  monosyllabic  comment 
had  so  little  of  sympathy  or  acquiescence  in  it,  that 
Lemuel  continued  in  an  injured  tone  and  with  more 
animation,  not  to  say  resolution  : 

"Well,  I've  hed  kine  of  an  idea  o'  goin'  over  'n' 
talkin'  it  over  with  M'tildy.  Mebbe  that'll  be  the 
best  thing  to  dew." 

"  Oh  you  think  so,  dew  yeh  ?  Thet's  all  th'  pride 
yoifve  got  lef,  is  it  ?  I  think  I  see  wjyself  goin' 
hangin'  raound  Matildy  Warren,  beggin'  her  to  let 
her  granddaughter  marry  a  Fairchild  !  I'm  ashamed 
of  yeh,  Lemuel." 

"  I  don'  see,  much,  what  ther'  is  to  be  ashamed 
on."  He  added,  with  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  grin 
on  his  face.  "  'N'  b'twixt  you  'n'  me,  I  don't  see 
's  there's  so  blamed  much  fur  me  to  be  praoud 
abaout,  nuther.  'Tain't  's  if  I  was  goin'  to  ask  a 
favor  o'  M'tildy,  at  all.  She  'n'  Sissly  used  to  talk 
'baout  the  thing  's  if  'twas  settled.  'N'  now  't  she's 
gone,  'n'  Seth's  talkin'  o'  quittin'  th'  farm,  seems  to 


8o  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

me  it'd  be  the  sensible  thing  to  kind  o'  fine  aout  ef 
M'tildy  wouldn't  offer  th'  young  folks  her  farm,  ef 
they'd  stay." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Hev'  yer  own  way,"  answered 
Miss  Sabrina,  with  stern  formality.  "  You  allus 
would  hev  yer  own  way — and  yeh  kin  go  muddle 
things  up  to  yer  heart's  content,  for  all  o'  me ! " 

Lemuel  watched  his  sister  march  to  the  stairs  door 
and  close  it  decisively  behind  her.  He  was  accus- 
tomed of  old  to  this  proof  of  her  wrath  ;  as  far  back 
as  he  could  remember  it  had  been  Sabrina's  habit  to 
figuratively  wash  her  hands  of  unpleasant  complica- 
tions on  the  ground-floor  by  slamming  this  self-same 
door,  and  going  up  to  sulk  in  her  own  room.  She 
did  it  as  a  young  girl,  in  the  first  months  of  her  dis- 
agreements with  his  young  wife  ;  it  seemed  to  him 
a  most  natural  proceeding  now,  when  they  were 
both  old,  gray-headed  people. 

Just  now,  it  was  a  relief  to  him  that  she  had  gone, 
for  if  she  had  stayed  he  might  not  have  had  the 
courage  to  put  his  thoughts  into  actions.  As  it  was 
he  took  his  hat  from  its  nail  back  of  the  kitchen 
door,  and  started  across-lots  for  the  Warren  home- 
stead. 

There  was  no  danger  of  not  finding  Mrs.  Warren 
at  home.  For  seven  or  eight  years  she  had  scarcely 
stirred  beyond  her  own  door,  and  for  the  past 
eighteen  months  she  had  been  bed-ridden.  The 
front  door  was  opened  to  Mr.  Fairchild  by  a  young 
slip  of  a  girl,  one  of  the  brood  of  daughters  with 


At  " M'tildys"  Bedside.  81 

which  a  neighboring  poor  family  was  weighted  down, 
and  all  of  whom  had  been  driven  to  seek  work  at 
any  price  among  the  farmers  of  the  vicinity.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  was  a  Lawton  girl  in  every  other 
farmhouse  the  whole  length  of  the  Burfield  road. 

The  girl  ushered  him  into  the  gloomy  hall,  gloomier 
than  ever  now  in  the  gathering  twilight,  and  uncer- 
emoniously left  him  there,  while  she  went  to  an- 
nounce his  presence.  He  heard  through  a  door  ajar 
at  the  end  of  the  hall  a  thin,  querulous  voice  ask, 
"  Which  one  of  the  Fairchilds  is  it  ?  "  and  the  girl's 
reply  "The  old  man." 

Then  the  servant  returned  to  him  and  with  a  curt 
"  Come  ahead,"  led  him  to  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
who  lay  in  her  bed-home,  in  a  recess  off  the  living 
room. 

Mrs.  Matilda  Warren  had  never  been  what  might 
be  called  a  popular  woman  in  the  neighborhood. 
She  and  her  husband,  the  latter  dead  now  for  many 
years,  had  come  from  Massachusetts.  They  were 
educated  people  in  a  sense,  and  had  not  mingled 
easily  with  their  rougher  neighbors.  The  widow 
Warren  had,  after  her  daughter's  escapade,  carried 
this  exclusiveness  to  a  point  which  the  neighborhood 
found  disagreeable.  Gradually  she  had  grown  into 
the  recluse  habit,  and  younger  generations  on  the 
hillside,  eking  out  the  gossip  of  their  elders  with 
fancies  of  their  own,  born  of  stray  glimpses  of  her 
tall,  gaunt  figure  and  pale  face,  came  to  regard  her 
with  much  that  same  awe  which,  two  centuries  be- 
fore, reputed  witches  had  for  children,  young  and  old. 
6 


82  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

Something  of  this  feeling  Lemuel  himself  was 
conscious  of,  as  he  stood  before  her.  The  coverlet 
came  up  close  under  her  arms.  She  wore  a  wrapper- 
dress  of  red  flannel.  As  he  entered  she  raised  her- 
self, with  an  evidently  cruel  effort,  upon  her  elbow, 
dragging  the  pillow  down  to  aid  in  supporting  her 
shoulder.  She  panted  with  this  exertion  as  she  con- 
fronted him.  Her  scanty  white  hair  was  combed 
tightly  back  from  her  forehead,  and  bound  in  place 
with  a  black-velvet  band  ;  a  natural  parting  on  the 
side  of  the  hair  gave  the  withered  face  a  suggestion 
of  juvenile  jauntiness,  in  grotesque,  jarring  contrast 
with  the  pale  blue  eyes  which  glittered  from  caverns 
of  dark  wrinkles,  and  the  sunken,  distorted  mouth. 
She  had  changed  so  vastly  since  their  last  meeting 
that  Lemuel  stood  bewildered  and  silent,  staring  at 
her. 

She  spoke  first.  "I'm  trying  to  think — it  must 
be  twenty  year  since  we've  met,  Lemuel  Fairchild." 

"  Nigh  onto  that,  M'tildy,"  he  replied,  turning  his 
hat  in  his  hands. 

"  I  didn't  expect  ever  to  lay  eyes  on  you  again,  I 
couldn't  come  to  you,  and  wouldn't  if  I  could,  and 
I  didn't  dream  you  would  ever  show  your  face  here." 
The  aged  woman  said  this  in  a  high,  sharp  voice, 
speaking  rapidly  and  with  an  ungracious  tone. 

Lemuel  fidgetted  with  his  hat  and  moved  his  feet 
uneasily  on  the  dog-skin  rug.  "Yeh  needn't  be 
afeered,  M'tildy,  I  wouldn't  hev  come  naow  ef  it 
hadn't  been  somethin'  partikler  'baout  Annie." 

The  invalid  raised  her  shoulder  from  the  pillow 


At  "  M'tildys  "  Bedside.  83 

with  a  sudden  movement,  and  bent  her  head  for- 
ward. "What's  happened  to  her?  Is  she  hurt? 
Tell  me,  quick  !  " 

"  Oh  nao,  they  ain't  nothin'  th'  matter  with  her. 
It's  unly  'baout  her  'n'  Seth.  I  kine  o'  thought  we 
ought  to  talk  it  over  'n'  see  haow  the  land  lay. 
That's  all." 

"  Oh  that's  it,  is  it  ?     Samantha  !  " 

Betrayed  out  of  her  shrewdness  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  summons  the  servant  girl  made  her  im- 
mediate appearance  through  the  hall  door. 

"  Yes,  I  knew  you  were  listening,  you  huzzy,"  said 
Mrs.  Warren  grimly.  "  You  get  along  up  stairs,  go 
into  Annie's  room,  an'  make  a  noise  of  some  sort  on 
the  melodeon  till  I  call  you.  Not  too  much  noise, 
mind  ;  jest  enough  so  I  can  know  you're  up  there." 

As  the  girl  left  the  room,  the  invalid  explained : 
"  What  she  don't  hear,  the  rest  of  the  Lawtons 
won't  know.  That  family's  as  good  as  a  detective 
force  for  the  whole  county."  Then,  in  a  less  amiable 
tone  :  "  You  might  as  well  set  down.  What  is  it 
about  my  girl  an'  Seth?" 

As  Lemuel  awkwardly  seated  himself  near  the 
bedside  and  prepared  to  answer,  a  wailing,  discord- 
ant series  of  sounds  came  from  the  floor  above.  The 
knowledge  that  the  girl  was  creating  this  melancholy 
noise  to  order,  and  on  his  account,  confused  his 
thought  and  he  found  himself  stating  the  case  much 
more  baldly  than  he  had  intended.  "  The  fact  is,"  he 
said,  stroking  his  hat  over  his  knee,  "  Seth's  thinkin' 
o'  goin'  away  to  Tecumsy — Albert's  got  him  a  place 


84  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

there — 'n'  so  I  s'pose  it'll  be  all  up  b'twixt  him  V 
Annie." 

The  grandmother  never  took  those  light,  search- 
ing eyes  off  her  visitor's  face.  He  felt  himself  turn- 
ing uncomfortably  red  under  their  malevolent  gaze, 
and  wished  she  would  speak.  But  she  said  nothing. 
At  last  he  explained,  deferentially  : 

"  I  thought  it'd  only  be  right  to  tell  yeh.  I  know 
Sissly  'n'  you  use  to  talk  abaout  th'  thing.  Th'  way 
she  useto  talk,  speshly  jis'  'fore  she  died,  it  'peared 
's  if  you  tew  hed  it  all  settled.  But  Albert's  goin' 
to  take  th'  farm,  it  seems,  'n'  Seth,  he's  fig'rin'  on 
goin'  away  to  be  a  neditor,  'n'  it  looks  to  me  's  if  th' 
hull  plan'd  fell  threw." 

Still  no  reply  from  the  bed.  He  added,  helplessly 
"  Don't  it  kind  o'  seem  so  to  you,  M'tildy  ?  " 

The  wretched  discords  from  the  chamber  above 
mocked  him.  The  witch-like  eyes  from  the  shadows 
of  the  recess  began  to  burn  him.  It  was  growing 
into  the  dusk,  but  the  eyes  had  a  light  of  their  own, 
a  cold,  steely,  fierce  light.  Would  she  never  speak  ? 
How  he  regretted  having  come ! 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  seems  to  me,  Lemuel  Fair- 
child,"  she  said  at  last,  not  speaking  so  rapidly  now, 
and  putting  a  sharp,  finishing  edge  on  each  of  her 
words.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  there's  never  been  but 
one  decent,  honorable,  likely  human  bein'  in  your 
whole  family  an'  she  came  into  it  by  the  mistake  of 
marrying  you.  I  blame  myself  for  not  remembering 
the  blood  that  was  in  you  all,  an'  for  thinking  that 
this  youngest  son  of  yours  was  different  from  the 


At  " M "tildes"  Bedside.  85 

rest.  I  forgot  that  he  was  a  Fairchild  like  the 
others,  an'  I  forgot  what  I  owed  that  family  of 
men,  so  mean  and  cowardly  and  selfish  that  they 
have  to  watch  each  other  like  so  many  hyenas.  An' 
so  you've  come  to  tell  me  that  Seth  has  turned  out 
like  his  father,  like  his  uncle,  like  all  of  his  name, 
eh  ?  The  more  fool  I,  to  need  to  be  told  it ! " 

Lemuel's  impulse  was  to  rise  from  his  chair,  and 
bear  himself  with  offended  dignity,  but  the  glitter  in 
the  old  woman's  eyes  warned  him  that  the  attempt 
would  be  a  failure.  He  scowled,  put  his  hat  on  the 
other  knee,  crossed  his  legs,  pretended  to  be  inter- 
ested in  the  antics  of  a  kitten  which  was  working 
havoc  with  a  ball  of  yarn  at  his  feet.  Finally  he  said : 

"  You  ain't  fair  to  Seth.  He's  a  good  boy.  He 
ain't  said  nothin'  nor  done  nothin'  fer  yeh  to  git 
mad  at.  Fer  that  matter,  you  never  was  fair  to  any 
of  us,  'cept  Sissly." 

"  Fair  !  Fair  !  "  came  the  answer  promptly,  and 
in  a  swifter  measure.  "  Hear  the  man !  Why, 
Lemuel  Fairchild,  you  know  that  you  cheated  your 
own  brother  out  of  the  share  in  that  farm  that  was 
his  by  all  rights  as  much  as  yours.  You  know  that 
your  father  intended  you  both  to  share  alike,  that 
he  died  too  suddenly  to  make  a  new  will  and  that  you 
grabbed  everything  under  a  will  made  when  your 
brother  William  was  thought  to  be  too  sickly  to 
ever  raise.  You  know  that  you  let  him  grow  up  an 
idle,  worthless  coot  of  a  fellow,  an'  then  encouraged 
him — yes,  don't  deny  it,  encouraged  him  I  say — to 
make  a  fool  of  my  daughter,  and  run  away  with  her. 


86  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

You  knew  I  wouldn't  look  at  him  as  a  suitor  for 
Jenny;  but  you  thought  I  would  be  soft  enough, 
once  they  were  married,  to  give  him  my  farm,  an'  you 
counted  on  getting  it  away  from  him  afterwards, 
just  as  your  father  got  the  Kennard  farm  before  you. 
You  egged  him  on  into  the  trouble,  an'  you  let 
him  die  in  it,  without  help.  Oh  /know  you,  Lemuel 
Fairchild — I  know  your  breed  ! 

"  Your  wife  was  a  good  woman — a  million  times  bet- 
ter than  you  deserved.  She  knew  the  wrongs  that 
had  been  done  me,  an'  Annie,  an'  her  poor  ne'er-do- 
well  of  a  father  before  her ;  she  was  anxious  to  make 
them  good,  not  I.  It  was  she  who  talked,  year  after 
year,  when  she  ran  over  here  on  the  sly  to  visit  me, 
of  squaring  everything  by  the  young  folk's  marriage. 
For  a  long  time  I  didn't  like  it.  I  distrusted  the 
family,  as,  God  knows,  I  had  reason  to.  But  all  that 
I  heard  of  Seth  was  in  his  favor.  He  was  hard- 
working, patient,  even-tempered,  so  everyone  said. 
What  little  I  saw  of  him  I  liked.  An'  I  felt  sorry 
for  him,  too,  knowing  how  dear  he  was  to  his 
mother,  and  yet  how  helpless  she  was  to  give  him 
advantages,  an'  make  something  besides  a  farm- 
drudge  out  of  him.  So  little  by  little,  I  gave  in  to 
the  idea,  an'  finally  it  became  mine  almost  as  much 
as  Cecily's. 

"  As  for  Annie,  I  don't  know  how  much  she  has 
grown  to  care  for  him  ;  I'm  afraid  she's  known  about 
our  talks,  and  lotted  on  'em,  though  if  anything  has 
passed  between  them  she  would  have  told  me.  For 
she's  a  good  girl — a  good  girl — and  she'll  stand  by  me, 


At  u  M'tildys"  Bedside.  87 

never  fear,  and  say  as  I  say  now,  that  it's  good  rid- 
dance !  D'ye  mind  ?  Good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish 
— to  your  whole  miserable,  conniving,  underhanded 
family  !  There  ain't  an  honest  hair  in  your  head, 
Lemuel  Fairchild,  and  there  never  was.  And  you 
can  go  back  to  them  that  sent  you,  to  your  old  cat- 
amaran of  a  sister  and  your  young  sneak  of  a  son, 
and  tell  'em  what  I  think  of  them,  and  you,  and  the 
whole  caboodle  of  you,  that  ruined  and  killed  my 
Jane,  and  made  me  a  broken  old  woman  before  my 
time,  and  now  tries  to  break  my  grand-daughter's 
heart !  And  the  longest  day  you  live,  don't  ever 
let  me  lay  eyes  on  you  again.  That's  all !  " 

Lemuel  groped  his  way  out  again  through  the  dark 
hall,  to  the  front  door.  The  groaning  discords  from 
upstairs  rose  to  a  triumphant  babel  of  sound  as  he 
knocked  against  the  hat-rack,  and  fumbled  for  the 
latch,  as  if  to  emphasize  and  gloat  over  his  discom- 
fiture. The  cold  evening  air,  after  the  sweltering 
heat  of  the  sick-room,  was  a  physical  relief,  but  it 
brought  no  moral  comfort. 

Old  Lemuel  was  much  pained,  and  even  more  con- 
fused, by  the  hard  words  to  which  he  had  had  to 
listen.  They  presented  a  portrait  of  himself  which 
he  felt  to  be  in  no  way  a  likeness,  yet  he  could  not 
say  wherein  a  single  line  should  be  altered.  He 
knew  that  he  was  not  a  bad  man ;  he  felt  conscious 
of  having  done  no  special  wrong,  intentionally,  to 
anybody  ;  he  had  always  tried  to  be  fair  and  square 
and  easy-going  with  everybody  :  yet  the  mischief  of 
it  was  that  all  these  evil  things  which  the  witch- 


88  Settts  Brother's   Wife. 

like  M'tildy  had  piled  at  his  door  were  of  indubita- 
ble substance,  and  he  could  not  prove,  even  to  him- 
self, much  less  to  her,  that  they  did  not  belong 
there.  It  was  a  part  of  the  consistently  vile  luck  of 
his  life  that  all  these  malignant  happenings  should 
be  charged  up  against  him,  and  used  to  demonstrate 
his  wickedness.  He  had  not  enough  mental  skill  or 
alertness  to  sift  the  unfair  from  the  true  in  the  in- 
dictment she  had  drawn,  or  to  put  himself  logically 
in  her  place,  and  thus  trace  her  mistakes.  He  only 
realized  that  all  these  events  which  she  enumerated 
had  served  to  convince  Mrs.  Warren  that  he  was  a 
villain.  The  idea  was  a  new  one  to  him,  and  it  both 
surprised  and  troubled  him  to  find  that,  as  he 
thought  the  matter  over  he  could  not  see  where  she 
was  particularly  wrong.  Yet  a  villain  he  had  cer- 
tainly never  intended  to  be — never  for  a  moment. 
Was  this  not  cruelly  hard  luck? 

And  then  there  was  this  business  about  Seth.  He 
had  meant  it  all  in  the  friendliest  spirit,  all  with  the 
best  of  motives.  And  how  she  had  snapped  him  up 
before  he  had  a  chance  to  explain,  and  called  him  a 
scoundrel  and  his  boy  a  sneak,  and  driven  him  from 
the  house !  Here  was  a  muddle  for  one — and  Sa- 
brina  had  said  he  would  make  a  muddle  of  it,  as  he 
had  of  everything  else,  all  through  his  life.  The 
lonely,  puzzled,  discouraged  old  man  felt  wofully 
like  shedding  tears,  as  he  approached  his  own  gate 
— or  no,  it  was  Albert's  gate  now — and  passed  the 
young  people  chatting  there,  and  realized  what  a 
feeble  old  fool  they  all  must  think  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  FISHING  PARTY. 

THE  young  people  were  arranging,  as  Lemuel 
slunk  past  them  in  the  dark,  a  fishing  party  for  the 
following  day.  The  proposal  had  been  Isabel's — - 
she  had  a  fertile  mind  for  pleasure  planning— and 
Annie  and  Seth  were  delighted  with  it.  They  would 
take  a  basket  of  food,  and  make  the  tea  over  a  fire 
in  the  woods,  and  the  two  women  could  take  turns 
in  playing  at  fishing  with  a  little  rod  which  Seth 
had  made  for  himself  as  a  boy.  It  would  be'  an 
ideal  way  of  bidding  good-bye  to  Seth,  said  his  pret- 
ty sister-in-law,  and  Annie,  feeling  more  deeply  both 
the  significance  of  saying  good-bye  and  the  charm 
of  having  a  whole  day  to  herself  along  the  river  and 
in  his  company,  had  assented  eagerly. 

As  for  Seth,  this  sudden  accession  of  feminine 
interest  in,  and  concern  for,  him  was  extremely 
pleasant  and  grateful.  The  very  suggestion  of  the 
trip,  in  his  honor,  was  like  a  sweet  taken  in  advance 
from  the  honeyed  future  which  he  was  so  soon  to 
realize.  Long  that  night,  after  he  had  walked  over 
to  the  Warren  gate  with  Annie,  and  returned  to  the 
unlathed  attic  where  Milton  lay  already  snoring,  he 
thought  fondly  of  the  morrow's  treat. 

The   morning  came,  warm   but   overcast,  with  a 


90  Settts  Brothers    Wife. 

soft  tendency  of  air  from  the  west.  "  It  couldn't 
have  been  better  if  it  had  been  made  to  order,"  Seth 
said  enthusiastically,  when  Isabel  made  her  appear- 
ance before  breakfast.  "  It  will  be  good  fishing  and 
good  walking,  not  too  hot  and  not  wet." 

Albert  smiled  a  trifle  satirically  when  the  project 
was  unfolded  to  him — with  that  conceited  tolerance 
which  people  who  don't  fish  always  extend  to  those 
who  do.  "You'll  probably  get  wet  and  have  the 
toothache  "  he  said  to  his  wife,  but  offered  no  ob- 
jection. 

The  lunch  was  packed,  the  poles  were  ready,  the 
bait-can  stood  outside  the  shed  door,  breakfast  was 
a  thing  of  the  past,  and  Isabel  sat  with  her  sunhat 
and  parasol — but  Annie  did  not  come.  Seth  fidgeted 
and  fumed  as  a  half-hour  went  by,  then  the  hour 
itself.  It  was  so  unlike  Annie  to  be  late.  He  made 
an  errand  to  the  hay-barn,  to  render  the  waiting  less 
tedious,  and  it  was  there  that  Milton  found  him, 
rummaging  among  some  old  harness  for  a  strap. 

"Annie's  come  over,"  said  Milton,  "I  heerd  her 
say  somethin'  'baout  not  goin'  fishin',  after  all. 
Looks  'sif  she'd  be'n  cryin'  tew.  I  tole  'em  I'd 
fetch  yeh." 

Seth  came  out  into  the  light,  slapping  the  dust  off 
his  hands.  "  What's  that  you  say  ?  Why  isn't  she 
going?" 

"  I  dunnao  nothin'  more  'n  I've  told  yeh.  Ask 
her  yerself.  I  'spose  she's  be'n  cryin'  at  the  thought 
of  yer  goin'.  That'll  be  the  eend  o'  ev'rythin'  atwixt 
you  two,  won't  it  ?  " 


The  Fishing  Party.  91 

"  Oh,  do  mind  your  own  business,  Milton !  "  Seth 
said,  and  hurried  across  the  barnyard  to  where  the 
two  young  women  stood,  on  the  doorstep.  "  Why 
aren't  you  going,  Annie?  What's  the  matter?"  he 
called  out  as  he  approached. 

Poor  Annie  looked  the  picture  of  despair.  Her 
face  bore  the  marks  of  recent  tears  and  she  hung 
her  head  in  silence.  Isabel  answered  for  her. 

"Going?  Of  course  she  is  going.  It  would  be 
ridiculous  not  to  go,  now  that  everything's  arranged. 
Get  the  things  together,  Seth,  and  let  us  make  a 
start." 

"  But  Milton  said  she  wasn't  going,"  persisted 
Seth. 

"  Dear,  dear,  how  downright  you  are !  Don't  I 
tell  you  that  she  is  going,  that  there  is  nothing  the 
matter,  that  we  are  waiting  for  you  ?  "  And  there 
was  nothing  more  to  be  said. 

The  sun  came  out  before  the  trio  had  gone  far, 
but  not  before  they  had  begun  to  forget  the  cloud 
at  the  start.  The  grass  in  the  pastures  was  not 
quite  dry  yet,  but  wet  feet  were  a  part  of  the  fun  of 
the  thing,  Isabel  said  gaily.  The  meadow  larks 
careened  in  the  air  about  them,  and  the  bobolinks, 
swinging  on  the  thistle  tops,  burst  into  chorus  from 
every  side  as  the  sunlight  spread  over  the  hill-side. 
There  were  robins,  too,  in  the  juniper  trees  beyond 
the  white-flowering  buckwheat  patch,  Seth  pointed 
out,  too  greedy  to  wait  till  the  green  berries  ripened. 
A  flock  of  crows  rose  from  the  buckwheat  as  they 
passed  and  who  could  help  smiling  at  Isabel's  citi- 


92  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

fied- imitation  of  their  strident  hawing?  They  came 
upon  some  strawberries,  half-hidden  in  the  tall  grass 
beside  the  rail-topped  wall,  and  Isabel  would  gather 
them  in  her  handkerchief,  to  serve  as  dessert  in  their 
coming  al  fresco  dinner,  and  Annie  helped  her, 
smiling  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  city  lady's  extrava- 
gant raptures. 

When  they  stopped  to  rest,  in  the  fresh-scented 
shadow  of  the  woods,  and  sat  on  a  log  along  the 
path,  two  wee  chipmunks  came  out  from  the  brake 
opposite  and  began  a  chirping  altercation,  so  com- 
ical in  its  suggestions  of  human  wrangling  that  they 
all  laughed  outright.  The  sound  scared  away  the 
tiny  rodents  in  a  twinkling,  and  it  banished  as 
swiftly  the  restraint  under  which  the  excursion  had 
begun. 

From  that  moment  it  was  all  gayety,  jesting,  en- 
joyment. Isabel  was  the  life  of  the  party;  she  said 
the  drollest  things  ; — passed  the  quaintest  comments, 
— revealed  such  an  inexhaustable  store  of  spirits  that 
she  lifted  her  companions  fairly  out  of  their  serious 
selves.  Seth  found  himself  talking  easily,  freely, 
and  even  Annie  now  and  again  made  little  jokes,  at 
which  they  all  laughed  merrily. 

The  fisherman's  judgment  as  to  the  day  was  hon- 
ored in  full  measure.  The  fish  had  never  bitten 
more  sharply,  the  eddies  had  never  carried  the  line 
better.  It  seemed  so  easy,  to  let  the  line  wander 
back  and  forth  between  the  two  currents,  to  tell 
when  the  bait  was  grabbed  underneath,  and  to  haul 
out  the  plunging,  flapping  beauty,  that  Isabel  was 


The  Fishing  Party.  93 

all  eagerness  to  try  it,  and  Seth  rigged  the  little  pole 
for  her,  baited  the  hook  self-sacrificingly  with  his 
biggest  worm,  which  he  had  thought  of  in  connec- 
tion with  a  certain  sapient  father  of  all  pike  further 
up  the  river,  and  showed  her  where  and  how  to  cast 
the  line. 

Alas,  it  was  not  so  simple,  after  all,  this  catching 
of  fish. 

First  she  lost  a  hook  on  a  root ;  then  it  seemed  to 
her  that  ages  passed  in  which  nothing  whatever 
happened  and  this  was  followed  by  the  discovery 
that  her  hook  had  entirely  been  stripped  of  bait 
without  her  suspecting  it.  At  last  there  came  a  bite, 
a  deep,  determined  tug,  which  she  answered  with  a 
hysterical  pull,  hurling  through  the  air  and  into  the 
thistles  far  back  of  her  a  wretched  little  bull-head 
which  they  were  unable  to  find  for  a  long  time,  and 
which  miserably  stung  her  thumb  with  its  fin  when 
she  finally  did  find  it. 

After  this  exploit  Annie  must  try,  and  she 
promptly  twitched  her  line  into  the  tree  overhead. 
And  so  the  day  went  forward,  with  light-hearted 
laughter  and  merriment,  with  the  perfect  happiness 
which  the  sunshine  and  color  and  perfume  of  June 
can  bring  alone  to  the  young. 

They  grew  a  trifle  more  serious  at  dinner  time.  It 
was  in  the  narrow  defile  where  the  great  jam  of  logs 
was,  and  where  the  river  went  down,  black  and  deep, 
under  the  rotting  wood  with  a  vicious  gurgle.  Just 
above  the  jam  there  was  a  mound,  velvety  now  with 
new  grass,  and  comfortably  shaded — a  notable  spot 


94  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

for  dinner  and  a  long  rest,  and  then  the  girls  could 
watch  to  much  advantage  Seth's  fishing  from  the 
logs,  of  which  great  things  were  prophesied.  Here 
then  the  cloth  was  spread  on  the  grass,  the  water 
put  on  over  a  fire  lighted  back  of  the  mound,  and 
the  contents  of  the  basket  laid  in  prandial  array.  It 
was  in  truth  a  meagre  dinner,  but  were  appetites 
ever  keener  or  less  critical  ? 

0  Once  during  the  forenoon,  when  allusion  was  made 
to  Seth's  coming  departure,  Isabel  had  commanded 
that  nothing  be  said  on  that  subject  all  day  long. 
"  Let  us  not  think  of  it  at  all,"  she  had  said,  "  but 
just  enjoy  the  hours  as  if  they  would  never  end. 
That  is  the  only  secret  of  happiness."  But  now  she 
herself  traversed  the  forbidden  line. 

"  How  strange  it  will  all  seem  to  you,  Seth,"  she 
mused,  as  she  poured  out  the  tea.  "As  the  time 
draws  near,  don't  you  almost  dread  it?" 

"  What  I've  been  thinking  most  about  to-day  is 
your  coming  to  the  farm  to  live.  It  can't  be  that 
you  are  altogether  pleased — after  what  I've  heard 
you  say." 

"  Oh  yes,  why  not  ?  "  said  Isabel.  "  My  case  is 
very  different  from  yours.  I  shall  be  just  as  idle  as 
I  like.  I  shall  have  horses,  you  know  and  a  big  con- 
servatory, and  a  piano,  and  all  that.  We  shall  have 
lots  of  people  here  all  summer  long — just  think  what 
fishing  parties  we  can  make  up ! — and  whenever  it 
gets  stupid  we  can  run  down  to  New  York.  Oh, 
I've  got  quite  beyond  the  reconciled  stage  now.  I 
am  almost  enthusiastic  over  it.  When  you  come 


The  Fishing  Party,  95 

back  in  a  year's  time,  you  won't  know  the  place.  It 
will  have  been  transformed  into  a  centre  of  fashion 
and  social  display.  I  may  get  to  have  a  veritable 
salon,  you  know,  the  envy  and  despair  of  all  Dear- 
born County.  Fancy  Elhanan  Pratt  and  Sile  Thomas 
in  evening  dress,  with  patent  leather  pumps  and 
black  stockings,  scowling  at  Leander  Crump,  with 
a  crushed  hat  under  his  arm,  whom  they  suspect  of 
watering  his  milk !  Oh,  we  shall  be  gay,  I  assure 
you." 

Seth  looked  at  her  attentively,  puzzled  to  know 
how  much  of  this  was  badinage,  how  much  sincerity. 
She  smiled  archly  at  him-^-what  a  remarkably  winning 
smile  she  had  ! — and  continued  : 

"  Then  Annie  will  be  company  for  me,  too.  I 
mean  to  bring  her  out,  you  know,  and  make  her  a 
leader  of  society.  In  a  year's  time  when  you  come 
back  and  I  introduce  you  to  her,  you  won't  be  able 
to  credit  your  senses,  her  air  will  be  so  distingut,  and 
her  tastes  so  fastidious." 

She  ceased  her  gay  chatter  abruptly,  for  Annie 
had  turned  away  and  they  could  see  that  her  eyes 
were  filling  with  tears. 

Seth  bethought  him  of  those  earlier  tears,  the  signs 
of  which  had  been  so  obvious  when  they  started,  and 
it  was  natural  enough  to  connect  the  two. 

"  Something  has  happened,  Annie,"  he  said. 
"Can't  you  tell  us  what  it  is?" 

And  then  he  bit  his  tongue  at  having  made  the 
speech,  for  Annie  turned  a  beseeching  look  at  him, 
then  at  Isabel,  and  burst  into  sobs. 


96  Seth's  Brother's   Wife. 

"  Isn't  it  reason  enough  that  you  are  going  away?" 
said  Isabel.  "What  more  could  you  ask?" 

"No,  it  isn't  that  alone,"  protested  Annie  through 
her  tears.  Her  pride  would  not  brook  the  assump- 
tion. "  There  is  something  else ;  I  can  hardly  tell 
you  —  but  —  but  —  my  grandmother  has  suddenly 
taken  a  great  dislike  to  Seth ;  if  she  knew  where  I 
was  she  would  be  very  angry ;  I  never  deceived  her, 
even  indirectly,  before,  but  I  couldn't  bear  not  to 
come  after  I  got  to  the  house,  and  if  I've  done 
wrong — " 

"  Now,  now  dear "  cooed  Isabel,  leaning  over  to 
take  Annie's  hands,  "what  nonsense  to  talk  of 
wrong ;  come  now,  dry  your  eyes,  and  smile  at  us, 
like  a  good  girl.  You  are  nervous  and  tired  out 
with  the  task  of  tending  your  grandmother — that's 
all — and  this  day  in  the  woods  will  do  you  a  world 
of  good.  Don't  let  us  have  even  the  least  little  bit 
of  unhappiness  in  it." 

Seth  watched  his  sister-in-law  caress  and  coax 
away  Annie's  passing  fit  of  gloom,  with  deep  enjoy- 
ment. The  tenderness  and  beauty  of  the  process 
were  a  revelation  to  him  ;  it  was  an  attribute  of 
womanhood  the  existence  of  which  he  had  scarcely 
suspected  heretofore,  in  his  untutored,  bucolic  state. 
Annie  seemed  to  forget  her  grief  quickly  enough, 
and  became  cheerful  again  ;  in  quaint  docility  she 
smiled  through  her  tears  at  Isabel's  command,  and 
the  latter  was  well  within  the  truth  when  she  cried : 

"  There !  You  have  never  looked  prettier  in  your 
life ! " 


The  Fishing  Party.  97 

Seth  nodded  acquiescence,  and  returned  the  smile. 
But  somehow  this  grief  of  Annie's  had  bored  him, 
and  he  felt  rather  than  thought  that  his  country 
cousin,  even  in  this  radiant  moment,  was  of  slight 
interest  compared  with  the  city  sister-in-law,  who 
not  only  knew  enough  not  to  cry  herself,  but  could 
so  sweetly  charm  away  tears  from  others. 

Seth  tested  all  the  joints  of  his  pole,  and  changed 
the  hook  and  baited  it  with  studious  care,  before  he 
climbed  out  on  the  jam.  Gingerly  feeling  his  way 
from  log  to  log,  he  got  at  last  upon  the  wet  mossy 
birch  which  projected  like  a  ledge  at  the  bottom  of 
the  pile.  The  women  watched  his  progress  from  the 
mound,  and  gave  a  little  concerted  shout  of  triumph 
when,  at  the  very  first  cast  of  his  line  into  the  froth 
of  the  dark  eddy,  it  was  caught  and  dragged  swiftly 
across  the  stream,  and  a  handsome  pike  a  moment 
later  paid  the  penalty. 

"  That's  by  far  the  biggest  yet,  isn't  it  ?  "  Annie 
asked. 

"  Wait,  there  are  bigger  yet.     Watch  this !  " 

The  line,  thrown  in  again,  had  been  sharply  jerked 
and  was  now  being  drawn  upstream  under  the  logs. 
Seth  moved  down  to  the  end  of  the  birch,  stooping 
under  the  jutting  heap  of  logs  above,  to  be  able  to 
play  the  pole  sidewise,  and  save  the  fish.  It  was  a 
difficult  position  to  stand  in  ;  he  held  the  rod  far 
forward  with  one  hand,  and  grasped  a  bough  above 
for  support  as  he  leaned  out  over  the  stream. 

The  thing  snapped — exactly  how  it  was  no  one 
knew — a  log  released  from  its  bondage  shifted  posi- 
7 


98  SetA's  Brothers   Wife. 

tion,  a  dozen  others  rolled  over  it  rumbling,  and  the 
women  held  their  breath  affrighted  as  they  saw, 
without  moving,  the  whole  top  of  the  jam  tremble, 
lift  a  jagged  end  or  two,  and  then  collapse  with  a 
hollow  noise.  As  they  found  voice  to  scream,  the 
water  was  covered  with  floating  debris,  and  the  air 
filled  with  a  musty  fungus-like  smell. 

There  was  no  sign  of  Seth. 

The  roar  of  the  falling  timber  had  scarcely  died 
away  before  Annie  had  left  the  mound,  had  torn 
her  way  through  the  alders  at  the  bottom,  and  stood 
panting  on  the  wet  slimy  rocks  at  the  edge  of  the 
stream.  She  hardly  heard  the  frightened  warning 
which  Isabel,  pale  and  half-fainting,  called  out  to  her  : 

"  Keep  away  from  the  water,  Annie !  You'll 
surely  be  drowned !  " 

She  was  painfully  intent  upon  another  thing,  upon 
the  search  for  some  indication  of  her  cousin.  The 
logs  were  moving  but  slowly  in  the  current,  and 
were  heaped  so  irregularly  that  no  clear  survey  of 
the  whole  surface  could  be  had.  There  seemed  an 
eternity  of  suffering  in  every  second  which  she 
spent  thus,  scanning  the  scene.  Could  the  crush  of 
logs  have  killed  him  ?  Even  if  he  had  escaped  that, 
would  he  not  be  drowned  by  this  time  ?  The  grind- 
ing of  the  logs  against  each  other,  the  swash  of  the 
water  at  her  feet,  Isabel's  faint  moaning  on  the 
mound  above,  seemed  to  her  dazed  terror  a  sort  of 
death  dirge. 

Oh,  joy  !  She  caught  sight  of  something  in  cloth 
between  two  great  tree-trunks,  drenched,  covered 


The  Fishing  Party.  99 

with  the  red  grime  of  rotten  wood,  motionless  ;  but 
it  was  Seth.  His  face  she  could  not  see,  nor  whether 
it  was  under  water  or  not.  She  walked  boldly  into 
the  stream — kneedeep  at  the  outset,  and  the  slip- 
pery rocks  shelving  off  swiftly  into  unknown  brown- 
black  depths — but  there  was  no  hesitation.  A  half- 
dozen  steps,  and  she  disappeared  suddenly  beneath 
the  water.  Isabel  wrung  her  hands  in  despair,  too 
deep  now  to  find  a  voice  ;  but  Annie  had  only 
slipped  on  the  treacherous  slates,  and  found  her 
footing  again.  The  water  came  to  her  shoulders 
now,  and  was  growing  deeper  steadily. 

With  a  strength  born  of  desperation  she  clam- 
bered up  on  the  birch,  which  floated  nearest  her,  and 
pulled  herself  along  its  length,  swaying  as  it  rolled 
in  the  current  under  her  weight,  but  managing  to 
keep  on  top.  It  was  nothing  short  of  miraculous  to 
Isabel's  eyes,  the  manner  in  which  she  balanced  her- 
self, clambered  from  log  to  log,  overcame  all  the 
obstacles  which  lay  between  her  and  the  inanimate 
form  at  the  other  side.  The  distance  was  not  great, 
and  a  swimmer  would  have  made  nothing  of  the 
feat,  but  for  a  girl  encumbered  with  heavy  wet 
skirts,  and  in  deep  water  for  the  first  time,  it  was  a 
real  achievement. 

At  last  she  reached  Seth — her  progress  had  cov- 
ered three  minutes,  and  seemed  to  her  hours  long — 
and,  throwing  herself  across  both  logs,  with  a  final 
effort  lifted  his  head  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  He  is  alive  !  "  she  said  to  Isabel,  feebly  now,  but 
with  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 


100  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

The  city  woman  ran  down  at  this,  all  exultation. 
At  Annie's  suggestion,  she  tied  their  two  shawls  to- 
gether, fastened  one  end  to  a  pole,  and  managed  to 
fling  the  other  over  to  the  rescuer  ;  it  was  easy  work 
after  that  to  draw  the  logs  to  the  bank,  and  then 
Annie,  standing  knee-deep  again  in  the  water,  made 
shift  to  get  the  heavy  dead  weight  safe  on  land. 
The  two  women  tugged  their  burden  through  the 
alders,  and  up  to  the  place  where  the  dinner  dishes 
still  lay,  with  scarcely  a  word.  Then  exhausted, 
excited,  overjoyed,  Isabel  threw  herself  in  Annie's 
arms  and  they  both  found  relief  in  tears. 

Seth  had  been  struck  on  the  head  and  stunned 
by  the  first  falling  log ;  how  much  he  had  been  in 
the  water  or  how  near  he  had  been  to  drowning 
could  not  be  discovered. 

He  presently  opened  his  eyes,  and  a  smile  came 
almost  instantaneously  to  his  face  as  he  realised  that 
his  head  was  resting  in  Isabel's  lap,  that  he  was 
muffled  up  in  her  shawl,  and  that  she  was  looking 
down  upon  him  anxiously,  tenderly.  A  second 
sufficed  to  bring  the  whole  thing  to  his  mind,  or  at 
least  the  facts  that  he  had  gone  under  with  the  logs 
and  by  some  agency  had  been  landed  here  safe  and 
comfortable,  if  not  dry — and  to  bring  also  the  instinc- 
tive idea  that  it  would  be  the  intelligent  part  to  lie 
still,  and  be  petted  and  sympathised  with. 

Isabel  scarcely  returned  his  smile.  She  had  not 
recovered  from  her  fright. 

"  Oh,  Seth,"  she  asked  earnestly,  "Are  you  hurt  ? 
Do  you  feel  any  pain  ?  " 


The  Fishing  Party.  101 

"  Not  a  bit  "  he  replied — "  only  dizzy  like.  By 
George !  How  they  did  come  down  though.  I 
must  have  had  a  pretty  narrow  squeak  of  it.  Funny 
— I  don't  remember  coming  out  at  all." 

She  smiled  now.  "  I  should  think  not.  You  lay 
perfectly  senseless  way  out  there  among  the  logs. 
We  fished  you  out,  and  dragged  you  up  here.  I  feel 
like  a  heroine  in  a  Crusader's  romance,  really  !  " 

It  entered  Seth's  mind  to  say  something  nice  in 
reply,  that  she  looked  like  one,  or  that  they  were 
not  equal  in  those  benighted  ages  to  producing  such 
women,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  but  his  tongue 
did  not  seem  to  frame  the  words  easily  and  as  he 
looked  up  at  her  he  grew  shy  once  again,  and  felt 
himself  flushing  under  her  smile,  and  only  said 
vacuously,  "  Mightly  lucky  I  wasn't  alone,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Annie  appeared  on  the  scene  now,  her  clothes 
steaming  from  the  heat  of  the  fire,  over  which  she 
had  endeavoured  to  dry  them,  and  her  teeth  display- 
ing a  spasmodic  tendency  to  knock  together  be- 
tween sentences.  She  too  was  full  of  solicitude  as  to 
Seth's  condition,  and  to  satisfy  this  he  reluctantly 
sat  up,  stretched  his  arms  out,  felt  of  the  bump  on 
his  forehead,  beat  his  chest,  and  finally  stood  erect. 

"  I'm  all  right,  you  see  "  he  said — "  only,  bo-o-o, 
I'm  cold,"  and  he  made  for  the  fire,  upon  which 
Annie  had  heaped  brushwood,  which  crackled  and 
snapped  now,  giving  forth  a  furious  heat. 

They  stood  about  the  fire  for  a  considerable  time, 
Isabel  was  opposite  Seth,  rather  ostentatiously  dry- 
ing sundry  damp  places  in  her  dress  which  had  come 


102  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

in  contact  with  the  rescued  man's  dripping  hair  and 
clothes.  He  was  so  interested  in  watching  her,  and 
in  thinking  half-regret  fully,  half-jubilantly,  that  she 
had  been  put  to  this  discomfort  in  saving  his  life, 
that  he  failed  to  notice  how  completely  drenched 
his  cousin  had  been.  The  conversation  turned  en- 
tirely, of  course,  upon  the  recent  great  event,  but  it 
was  desultory  and  broken  by  long  intervals  of 
silence,  and  somehow  Seth  did  not  get  any  clear 
idea  of  how  he  was  saved,  much  less  of  the  parts 
the  two  women  had  respectively  played  in  the  res- 
cue. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  say  that  Isabel  purposely 
misrepresented  anything ;  it  is  nearer  the  truth  to 
describe  her  as  confounding  her  own  anxiety  with 
her  companion's  action.  At  all  events,  the  narrative 
to  be  gleaned  from  her  scattering  descriptions  and 
exclamations  had  the  effect  of  creating  in  Seth's 
mind  the  impression  that  he  could  never  be  suffi- 
ciently grateful  to  his  sister-in-law. 

As  for  Annie,  the  whole  momentous  episode  had 
come  so  swiftly,  had  been  so  imperative,  exhaustive 
in  its  demands  of  all  her  faculties,  and  then  had  so 
suddenly  dwindled  to  the  unromantic  conditions  of 
drying  wet  clothes  at  a  brush  fire,  that  her  thoughts 
upon  it  were  extremely  confused.  She  scarcely 
took  part  in  the  conversation.  Perhaps  she  felt 
vaguely  that  her  own  share  in  the  thing  was  not 
made  to  stand  forth  with  all  the  prominence  it 
deserved,  but  she  took  it  for  granted  that,  in  his 
first  waking  moments,  while  he  was  alone  with  Isa- 


The  Fishing  Party.  103 

bel,  Seth  had  been  told  the  central  fact  of  her  going 
into  the  water  for  him,  and,  if  he  was  not  effusively 
grateful,  why — it  was  not  Seth's  way  to  be  demon- 
strative. Besides  she  said  to  herself,  she  did  not 
want  to  be  thanked. 

Still,  late  that  night,  long  hours  after  Seth  had 
said  good-night  to  her  at  the  Warren  gate,  and  she 
had  almost  guiltily  stolen  up  to  her  room  without 
braving  her  grandmother's  questions,  Annie  could 
not  go  to  sleep  for  thinking : — 

"He  might  at  least  have  looked  some  thanks,  even 
if  he  did  not  speak  them." 

Three  days  later,  Seth  departed  for  the  city.  It 
was  not  a  particularly  impressive  ceremony,  this 
leave-taking,  not  half  so  much  as  he  had  imagined 
it  would  be. 

He  had  risen  early,  dressed  himself  in  one  of  the 
two  new,  ready-made,  cheap  suits  Albert  had  bought 
for  him  at  Thessaly  and  packed  all  his  possessions 
in  the  carpet  satchel  which  had  been  in  the  family 
he  knew  not  how  long — and  still  found,  when  he 
descended  the  stairs,  that  he  was  the  first  down.  It 
was  a  dark,  rainy  morning,  and  the  living  room 
looked  unspeakably  desolate,  and  felt  disagreeably 
cold.  He  sat  for  a  long  time  by  a  window  ponder- 
ing the  last  copy  of  John's  Banner,  and  trying  to 
thus  prepare  his  mind  for  that  immense  ordeal  of 
daily  newspaper  work,  that  struggle  of  unknown, 
titanic  proportions,  now  close  before  him. 

Alvira  at  last  came  in  to  lay  the  breakfast  table. 


104  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

"  Hello,  you  up  already  ?  "  was  all  she  said ;  but 
he  felt  she  was  eyeing  him  furtively,  as  if  even  thus 
soon  he  was  a  stranger  in  the  house  of  his  birth. 

Aunt  Sabrina  next  appeared.  "There!  I  knew 
it  'd  rain,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  told  Alviry  so  last 
night.  When  th'  cords  on  th'  curtains  git  limp,yeh 
can't  fool  me  'baout  it's  not  rainin'.  'N'  Seth,  I 
hope  you'll  go  to  Church  regular  whatever  else  you 
dew.  'N'  ef  yeh  could  take  a  class  in  th'  Sunday 
schewl,  it  'd  go  a  long  ways  tow'rd'  keepin'  yeh  aout 
o'  temptation.  Will  yeh  go  to  th'  Baptist  Church, 
think?  Th'  Fairchilds  V  allus  be'n  Baptists." 

The  breakfast  passed  in  constrained  silence,  save 
for  Albert,  who  delivered  a  monologue  on  the  evils 
of  city  life,  and  the  political  and  ethical  debauchery 
of  the  press,  to  which  Seth  tried  dutifully  to  pay 
attention — thinking  all  the  while  how  to  say  good- 
bye to  Isabel,  how  to  invest  his  words  with  a  fervor 
the  others  would  not  suspect. 

When  the  time  came,  all  this  planning  proved  of 
no  avail.  He  found  himself  shaking  hands  as  per- 
functorily with  her  as  with  her  husband,  and  his 
father  and  aunt.  Only  the  latter  kissed  him,  and 
she  did  it  with  awkward  formality. 

Then  he  climbed  into  the  buggy  where  Milton 
and  the  carpet  bag  were  already  installed,  and,  an- 
swering in  kind  a  chorus  of  "  Good-byes  "  drove  out 
into  the  rain — and  the  World. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ON  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  WORLD. 

SETH'S  first  impressions  of  the  World,  gathered 
when  he  found  himself  and  his  valise  alone  on  the 
sidewalk  of  one  of  Tecumseh's  chief  streets,  were 
distinctly  gloomy. 

Other  passengers  who  had  left  the  train  here,  and 
in  whose  throng  he  had  been  borne  along  thus  far, 
started  off  briskly  in  various  directions  once  they 
reached  the  busy  thoroughfare,  elbowing  their  way 
through  the  horde  of  clamorous  hotel  porters  much 
as  one  might  push  through  a  clump  of  obstructing 
bushes.  He  had  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind  the  cardi- 
nal rule  of  traveling  countrymen,  that  these  shout- 
ing runners  were  brigands  intent  upon  robbing  him, 
and  he  was  clear  in  his  resolution  to  give  them  no 
hold  upon  him,  not  even  by  so  much  as  a  civil  ex- 
pression of  countenance.  He  said  "  No,  thank 
you  !  "  sternly  to  at  least  a  dozen  solicitations,  so  it 
seemed  to  him,  and  walked  away  steadily,  fearful 
that  their  practised  eyes  had  detected  in  him  an 
utter  stranger,  and  intent  only  upon  proving  to  them 
that  he  knew  where  he  was  going.  When  at  last  it 
seemed  likely  that  they  were  no  longer  watching 
him,  he  stopped,  put  his  bag  down  in  a  door  way, 
and  looked  about. 


106  Settis  Brother's   Wife. 

It  was  half-past  six  of  a  summer  afternoon  (for  a 
failure  to  make  connections  had  prolonged  the  sixty- 
mile  journey  over  eight  hours),  and  the  sun,  still 
high,  beat  down  the  whole  length  of  the  street  with 
an  oppressive  glare  and  heat.  The  buildings  on 
both  sides,  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  were  of  brick, 
flat-topped,  irregular  in  height,  and  covered  with 
flaring  signs.  There  was  no  tree,  nor  any  green 
thing,  in  sight. 

Past  him  in  a  ceaseless  stream,  and  all  in  one 
direction,  moved  a  swarm  of  humanity — laborers 
and  artisans  with  dinner-pails,  sprucely  dressed 
narrow-chested  clerks  and  book-keepers,  and  bold 
faced  factory-girls  in  dowdy  clothes  and  boots  run 
down  at  the  heels— a  bewildering,  chattering  pro- 
cession. No  one  of  all  this  throng  glanced  at  him, 
or  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  him,  until  one 
merry  girl,  spying  his  forlorn  visage,  grinned  and 
called  out  with  a  humorous  drawl  "  Hop-pick — ers ! " 
and  then  danced  off  with  her  laughing  companions, 
one  of  whom  said,  "Aw,  come  off !  You're  rushin' 
the  season.  Hop's  ain't  ripe  yet." 

Seth  felt  deeply  humiliated  at  this.  He  had  been 
vaguely  musing  upon  the  general  impudence  of  his 
coming  to  this  strange  city  to  teach  its  people  daily 
on  all  subjects,  from  government  down,  while  he  did 
not  even  know  how  to  gracefully  get  his  bag  off  the 
street.  This  incident  added  the  element  of  wounded 
self-pride  to  his  discomfort — for  even  casual  passers- 
by  were  evidently  able  to  tell  by  his  appearance 
that  he  was  a  farmer.  Strange !  neither  Albert  nor 


On  the   Threshold  of  the  World.      107 

John  had  told  him  anything  calculated  to  serve  him 
in  this  dilemma.  They  had  warned  him  plentifully 
as  to  what  not  to  do.  Indeed  his  head  was  full  of 
negative  information,  of  pit-falls  to  avoid,  tempta- 
tions to  guard  against.  But  on  the  affirmative  side 
it  was  all  a  blank.  John  had,  it  was  true,  advised 
him  to  get  board  with  some  quiet  family,  but  if 
there  were  any  representatives  of  such  quiet  families 
in  the  crowd  surging  past,  how  was  he  to  know 
them? 

While  he  tormented  himself  with  this  perplexing 
problem,  two  clerks  came  out  of  the  store  next  to 
which  he  stood,  to  pull  up  the  awning  and  prepare 
for  night.  A  tall  young  man,  with  his  hands  deep 
in  his  trouser's  pockets,  and  a  flat  straw  hat  much 
on  one  side  of  his  head,  sauntered  across  the  street 
to  them,  and  was  greeted  familiarly. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  shouted  one  of  these  clerks,  "  you 
just  everlastingly  gave  it  to  that  snide  show  to-night. 
Wasrit  it  a  scorcher,  though  ?  " 

The  young  man  with  the  straw  hat  put  on  a  satis- 
fied smile  :  "  That's  the  only  way  to  do  it,"  he  said 
lightly.  "  The  sooner  these  fakirs  understand  that 
they  can't  play  Tecumseh  people  for  chumps,  the 
better.  If  the  Chronicle  keeps  on  pounding  'em, 
they'll  begin  to  give  us  a  wide  berth.  Their  advance 
agent  thought  he  could  fix  me  by  opening  a  pint 
bottle  of  champagne.  That  may  work  in  Hornells- 
ville,  but  when  he  gets  to-night's  Chronicle  I  fancy 
he'll  twig  that  it  doesn't  go  down  here." 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  Tom,"  said  the  other  clerk,  in  a 


io8  Sethts  Brothers   Wife. 

low  tone  of  voice,  "  my  sister's  engaged  to  Billy 
Peters.  I  don't  know  that  she  wants  to  have  it 
given  away,  that  is,  names,  and  everything,  but  you 
might  kind  o'  hint  at  it.  It  would  please  the  old 
folks,  I  think — you  know  father's  taken  the  Chronicle 
for  the  last  twenty  years." 

"  I  know  "  said  Tom,  producing  an  old  envelope 
from  a  side  pocket  and  making  some  dashes  on  it 
with  a  pencil — "  the  regulation  gag  :  'It  is  rumored 
that  a  rising  young  hat-dealer  will  shortly  lead  to 
the  altar  one  of  the  bright,  particular  social  stars  of 
Brewery  street '  eh  ?  Something  like  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  You  know  how  to  fix  it  so  that 
everybody '11  know  who  is  meant.  Be  around  at 
Menzel's  to-night  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  Maybe  I'll  look  in.  The  beer's 
been  fearfully  flat  there,  though,  this  last  carload. 
So  long,  boys !  " — and  Tom  moved  down  the  street 
while  the  clerks  re-entered  the  store. 

Seth  followed  him  eagerly,  and  touched  him  on 
the  shoulder,  saying: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  heard  you  mention 
the  Chronicle  just  now.  I  would  be  much  obliged  if 
you  could  tell  me  where  the  office  is." 

The  young  man  turned,  looked  Seth  over  and 
said,  affably  enough : 

"Certainly.  But  you'll  find  it  shut  up.  The 
book-keeper's  gone  home."  Then  he  added,  as  by  a 
happy  afterthought :  "  If  you  want  to  pay  a  weekly 
subscription,  though,  I  can  take  it,  just  as  well  as 
not." 


On  the   Threshold  of  the  World.      109 

"  No,"  answered  Seth,  "  I've  come  to  work  on  the 
Chronicle" 

"  Oh — printer  ?  I  guess  some  of  the  fellows  are 
there  still,  throwing  in  their  cases.  If  you  like,  I'll 
show  you." 

Seth  replied,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  No,  I'm 
not  a  printer.  I've  come  to  be — to  be — an  editor." 

Tom's  manner  changed  in  a  twinkling  from  civility 
to  extreme  cordiality. 

"  Oh — ho  !  you're  the  new  man  from  Thessaly,  eh  ? 
Jack  Fairchild's  brother !  By  Jove  !  How  are 
you,  anyway.  ?  When  did  you  get  in  ?  Where  are 
you  stopping?" 

"I'm  not  stopping  anywhere— unless  it  be  this 
stairway  here,"  Seth  replied,  pointing  to  his  carpet- 
bag with  a  smile,  for  his  companion's  cheerfulness 
was  infectious.  "  I  came  in  half  an  hour  ago,  and  I 
scarcely  knew  where  to  go,  or  what  to  do  first.  I 
gather  that  you  are  connected  with  the  Chronicle!" 

"  Well,  I  should  remark ! "  said  Tom,  taking  the 
bag  up  as  he  spoke.  "  Come  along.  We'll  have  some 
supper  down  at  Bismarck's,  and  leave  your  grip  there 
for  the  evening.  We  can  call  for  it  on  our  way 
home.  You'll  stop  with  me  to-night,  you  know.  It 
ain't  a  particularly  fly  place,  but  we'll  manage  all 
right,  I  guess.  And  how's  Jack  ?  " 

In  the  delight  of  finding  so  genial  a  colleague, 
one,  too,  who  had  known  and  worked  with  his 
brother,  Seth's  heart  rose,  as  they  walked  down  the 
street  again.  He  had  been  more  than  a  little  dis- 
mayed at  the  prospect  of  meeting  these  unknown 


1 10  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

writers  whose  genius  radiated  in  the  columns  of  the 
Chronicle,  and  in  whose  company  he  was  henceforth 
to  labor.  Especially  had  he  been  nervous  lest  he 
should  not  speak  with  sufficient  correctness,  and 
should  shock  their  fastidious  ears  with  idioms  in- 
sensibly acquired  in  the  back-country.  It  was  a 
great  relief  to  find  that  this  gentleman  was  so  easy 
in  his  conversation,  not  to  say  colloquial. 

They  stopped  presently  at  a  broad  open  door, 
flanked  by  wide  windows,  in  which  were  displayed  a 
variety  of  bright-tinted  play  bills,  and  two  huge 
pictures  of  a  goat  confidently  butting. a  small  bar- 
rel. There  was  a  steep  pile  of  these  little,  dark- 
colored  barrels  on  the  sidewalk  at  the  curb,  from 
which  came  a  curious  smell  of  resin.  As  they  en- 
tered, Seth  discovered  that  this  odor  belonged  to 
the  whole  place. 

The  interior  was  dark  and,  to  the  country  youth's 
eyes,  unexpectedly  vast.  The  floor  was  sprinkled 
with  gray  sand.  An  infinitude  of  small,  circular  oak 
tables,  each  surrounded  with  chairs,  stretched  out 
in  every  direction  into  the  distant  gloom.  Away 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  place,  somebody  was  bang- 
ing furiously  on  a  piano.  In  the  middle  distance, 
three  elderly  men  sat  smoking  long  pipes  and  play- 
ing dominoes,  silently,  save  for  the  sharp  clatter  of 
the  pieces.  Nearer,  three  other  men,  seated  about 
a  table,  were  all  roaring  in  German  at  the  top  of 
their  lungs,  pounding  with  their  glasses  on  the  re- 
sounding wood,  and  making  the  most  excited  and 
menacing  gestures.  While  Seth  stared  at  them, 


On  the   Threshold  of  the   World.      1 1 1 

expecting  momentarily  to  see  the  altercation  de- 
velop into  blows,  he  felt  himself  clutched  by  the 
arm,  and  heard  Tom  say: 

"  Bismarck,  this  is  Mr.  Faircliild,  a  new  Chronicle 
man.  You  must  use  him  as  well  as  you  do  me." 

Seth  turned  and  found  himself  shaking  hands 
with  an  old  German  monstrous  in  girth,  and  at  once 
fierce  and  comical  in  aspect,  with  short,  upright 
gray  hair,  a  huge  yellowish-white  moustache,  and 
little  piggish  blue  eyes  nearly  hidden  from  view  by 
the  wave  of  fat  which  rendered  his  great  purple 
face  as  featureless  as  the  bottom  of  a  platter. 

"  Who  effer  vas  Misder  Vott's  frent,  den  you  bed 
he  owens  dis  whole  houwus,"  this  stout  gentleman 
wheezed  out,  smiling  warmly,  and  releasing  Seth's 
hand  to  indicate,  with  a  sweeping  gesture  of  his 
pudgy  paw,  the  extent  of  Seth's  new  and  figurative 
possessions. 

On  the  invitation  of  the  host  they  all  took  seats, 
and  a  lean,  wolfish-faced  young  man  named  "  Ow- 
goost,"  who  shuffled  along  pushing  his  big  slippers 
on  the  floor,  brought  three  tall  foaming  glasses  of 
dark-brown  beer.  Seth  did  not  care  for  beer,  and 
had  always,  in  a  general  way,  avoided  saloons  and 
drink,  but  of  course,  under  these  circumstances,  it 
would  be  ridiculous  not  to  do  as  the  others  did. 
The  beverage  was  bitter,  but  not  unpleasant,  and 
with  an  effort  he  drank  it  half  down  at  a  time,  as 
he  saw  his  companions  do.  Then  he  looked  about, 
while  they  discussed  the  merits  of  this  new  "  bock," 
Tom  speaking  with  an  air  of  great  authority,  and 


ii2  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

pronouncing  it  better  than  the  last,  but  a  bit  too 
cold. 

The  piano  was  still  jangling,  and  the  dominoes 
were  being  rattled  around  for  a  new  game.  The 
three  noisy  old  men  had  grown,  if  possible,  more 
violent  and  boisterous  than  ever.  One  of  them  now 
sprang  to  his  feet,  lifted  his  right  hand  dramatically 
toward  the  dusky  ceiling,  and  bellowed  forth  sono- 
rously something  which  Seth  thought  must  be  at 
least  a  challenge  to  immediate  combat,  while  the 
others  hammered  their  glasses  vehemently,  and 
fairly  shrieked  dissent. 

"  I'm  afraid  those  men  are  going  to  fight,"  he 
said. 

"  Fight  ?  Nonsense  !  They're  rather  quieter  than 
usual,"  remarked  Tom.  "  What  are  they  chewing 
on  to-night,  Bismarck — the  Sigel  racket  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  their  host,  listening  indifferently. 
"  Dot's  Sigel."  Then,  addressing  Seth,  he  explained : 
"  Somedimes  it's  Sigel,  unt  somedimes  the  reffolution 
uff  forty-eighd,  unt  den  somedimes  der  k-vestion  of 
we  haf  a  vood  bafement  by  Main  streed.  It  all 
makes  no  differunce  to  dem,  vicheffer  ding  dey 
shdarts  mit,  dey  git  yust  so  much  oxcited.  Dot 
rooster  you  see  standing  up  mit  der  spegtacles,  dot 
Henery  Beckstein,  he's  a  tailor ;  he  sits  mid  his  legs 
tvisted  all  day,  den  when  night  comes  he  neets  some 
exercises.  Efery  night  for  tweluf  years  he  comes 
here,  unt  has  his  liddle  dalk,  und  de  udders,  dey 
alvays  pitches  into  him.  He  likes  dot  better  as  his 
dinner.  De  vurst  is,  dey  all  don't  know  vat  dey 


On  the   Threshold  of  the  World.      113 

talk  aboud.  I  bleef,  so  help  me  Gott,  no  one  of  'em 
ever  laid  eyes  by  Sigel,  unt  dey  all  svear  he  vas 
deir  deafest  frent.  Now — hear  dot !  Dot  Beckstein 
say  uff  he  didn't  shleep  mid  him  four  years  in  his 
dent,  in  de  same  bet !  How  was  dot  for  lies,  huh?" 

The  host,  pained  and  mortified  at  this  mendacity, 
left  his  seat  and  waddled  over  to  the  disputants, 
shouting  as  he  went,  and  joined  the  conversation  so 
earnestly  that  his  little  eyes  seemed  bursting  .  from 
his  beet-red  face. 

"  Great  old  man,  that,"  said  Tom,  pounding  with 
his  glass  for  the  waiter  ;  "  there's  no  flies  on  him  ! 
I  named  him  Bismarck  three  or  four  years  ago — 
everybody  calls  him  that  now — and  it  tickled  him 
so,  there's  nothing  here  too  good  for  me.  You  like 
cheese,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  eat  cheese  sometimes." 

Seth  never  had  eaten  this  kind  of  cheese  which 
Owgoost  presently  slapped  down  before  them,  along 
with  a  mustard  cup,  a  long  bulging  roll  of  black 
bread,  and  more  beer.  It  was  pale  and  hard  and 
strong  of  scent,  was  cut  in  thick  slabs,  and  was  to  be 
eaten,  he  judged  from  Tom's  procedure,  under  a 
heavy  top-dressing  of  the  brown  mustard.  He  liked 
it  though,  and  was  interested  to  find  how  well  beer 
went  with  it,  or  it  went  with  beer.  Then  they  had 
each  a  little  pickled  lambs-tongue,  pink  and  tooth- 
some, to  be  eaten  with  plenty  of  salt,  and  it  was 
quite  remarkable  how  ideally  beer  seemed  to  go 
with  this,  too.  In  all,  three  large  glasses  went. 

Tom  was  a  delightful  companion.     It  was  simply 


114  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

charming  to  hear  him  talk,  as  he  did  almost  contin- 
uously, describing  the  round  of  life  in  Tecumseh, 
relating  gay  little  anecdotes  of  personal  experience, 
and  commenting  trenchantly  on  various  men  as  they 
came  in.  To  some  of  these  he  introduced  Seth. 
They  seemed  extremely  affable  young  people,  and 
some  of  them  who  took  seats  near  by  invited  Tom 
and  him  with  much  fervor  and  still  greater  frequency, 
to  have  their  glasses  filled  up.  The  former  accepted 
these  proffers  very  freely,  but  the  beer  did  not  taste 
as  good  to  Seth  as  it  had  during  supper,  and  he  kept 
to  his  one  glass — the  fourth — sipping  at  it  from  time 
to  time.  Tom  was  so  urgent  about  it,  though,  that 
he  did  take  a  cigar,  a  dark,  able-bodied  cigar  which 
annoyed  him  by  burning  up  on  one  side. 

The  beer-hall  presented  a  brilliant  appearance  now, 
with  all  the  lights  flaming,  with  most  of  the  chairs 
filled  by  merry  young  men,  with  three  or  four  white- 
jacketed  waiters  flitting  about,  bearing  high  in  air 
both  hands  full  of  foaming  glasses — a  fine  contrast 
to  the  dingy,  bare  interior  of  the  twilight,  with  only 
the  solitary  Owgoost.  Above  the  ceaseless  hum  of 
conversation  and  laughter,  rose,  at  intervals,  the 
strains  of  lively  music  from  the  far-off  piano,  re- 
inforced now  by  a  harp  and  a  flute. 

After  a  time  cards  were  proposed,  and  Tom  made 
one  of  a  quartette  who  ranged  themselves  at  the 
table.  Seth  could  not  play,  and  so  moved  his  chair 
back,  to  watch  the  game.  His  cigar  burned  badly 
and  he  relighted  it.  Then  it  tasted  bitter,  and,  after 
some  hesitation,  he  threw  it  away.  The  game, 


On   the    Threshold  of  the  World.      115 

called  seven-up,  was  one  he  had  never  seen  before ; 
the  ten-spots  were  invested  with  a  fictitious  value 
which  puzzled  him.  Tom,  over  whose  shoulder  he 
watched  had  three  of  these  tens,  and  silently  indi- 
cated to  Seth  that  they  were  of  especial  interest. 
Seth  fixed  his  eyes  upon  them,  to  see  how  they  were 
to  be  managed.  They  were  very  curious  ten-spots, 
being  made  of  beer-glasses  running  over  with  lambs- 
tongues,  with  lambs  chasing  them  to  rescue  their 
lamented  members,  and  burly  "  Bismarck"  striving 
in  vain  to  secure  order.  General  Sigel  came  to  help 
him,  and  Tom  dealt  him  a  terrific  blow.  Here  was 
a  fight  at  last,  and  John  Fairchild  stood  by,  rapidly 
taking  notes.  Then  it  came  bed-time,  and — Seth 
was  being  shaken  into  sensibility  by  Tom,  who  said 
between  fits  of  chuckling  : 

"  Wake  up,  old  boy  !     Wake  up  !  " 

Another  great  change  had  taken  place  in  the  beer- 
hall — the  lights  were  out,  the  music  had  ceased,  the 
crowd  was  gone.  A  solitary  gas-jet  flickered  from 
the  chandelier  over  the  table ;  the  game  was  ended, 
and  the  players  were  standing  ready  to  depart,  and 
laughing.  Fat  Bismarck  stood  behind  him,  in  the 
half-shadow,  looking  very  sleepy,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  grinning  too. 

Seth  saw  all  this  first.  Then  he  discovered  that 
he  held  his  collar  and  necktie  in  his  hand,  and  that 
his  coat  and  waistcoat  were  on  the  table.  He  dimly 
began  to  understand  that  he  had  been  asleep,  and 
that,  in  the  operation  of  his  dream,  he  had  com- 
menced undressing.  Everybody  was  laughing  at 


n6  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

him,  his  friend  Tom,  who  now  was  helping  him  on 
with  his  coat,  most  heartily  of  all. 

"  I  declare,"  Seth  said,  "  I  must  have  fallen  asleep. 
I  had  no  idea — I  suppose  I  was  dreaming  of  getting 
ready  for  bed." 

"  Oh,  dots  all  right,  dots  all  right,"  said  Bismarck 
heartily.  "  Ve  don'd  mind  it  a  bit.  You  vas  only 
dired  owut." 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  said  Tom,  "  he'd  had  a  hard  day 
of  it,  traveling  all  the  way  from  Thessaly.  Are  you 
ready?  We'll  get  the  bag,  and  trot  along  home. 
Good  night,  boys !  " 

Seth  responded  to  the  chorus  of  answering  "  good 
nights,"  and  the  twain  started  out.  Tom  not  only 
carried  the  bag,  but  took  his  companion's  arm — 
much  to  Seth's  satisfaction,  for  he  felt  very  tired, 
and  it  seemed  unusually  difficult  for  him  to  shake 
off  his  sleepiness.  Tom  was  more  talkative  than 
ever,  and  he  seemed  to  be  saying  extremely  clever 
things,  but  Seth  somehow  did  not  follow  their 
meaning,  and  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  in 
reply.  They  were  in  a  dark  side  street  now. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  he'd  be  open ! "  said  Tom, 
abruptly,  stopping  before  a  place,  through  the 
closed  shutters  of  which  long  horizontal  threads  of 
light  gleamed.  "  Let's  go  in  and  have  a  night-cap. 
It'll  set  you  straight  in  a  minute." 

The  curious  reluctance  to  speak,  of  which  Seth 
had  felt  vaguely  conscious  all  along,  now  prompted 
acquiescence  as  the  easiest  course,  and  he  followed 
Tom  into  a  small,  low  room,  thick  with  cigar-smoke 


On  the   Threshold  of  the  World.      117 

and  the  odor  of  kerosene,  where  four  or  five  men, 
with  their  hats  tilted  over  their  eyes,  were  playing 
cards :  there  was  a  pile  of  money  in  the  centre  of 
the  table,  to  which  each  in  turn  seemed  to  be  adding 
from  a  smaller  heap  before  him.  They  were  so 
much  engrossed  in  the  game  that  they  only  nodded 
at  Tom,  and  Seth  felt  relieved  at  escaping  the  ordeal 
of  being  introduced  to  them.  At  Tom's  suggestion 
he  took  a  little  glass  of  brandy — "  to  do  their  duty 
by  the  National  debt," — what  ever  that  meant.  It 
was  burning,  nauseous  stuff,  which  brought  the  tears 
to  his  eyes,  but  it  made  him  feel  better. 

It  especially  enabled  him  to  talk,  which  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  now  with  a  fluency  that  surprised  him. 
Tom  was  evidently  much  impressed  by  his  remarks, 
saying  little,  it  is  true,  but  gripping  his  arm  more 
closely.  Thus  they  walked  to  Tom's  lodgings — a 
tall,  dark  brick  house  opposite  a  long  line  of  coal 
sheds.  The  hall  was  so  dark  that  Seth,  in  trying  to 
follow  his  guide,  stumbled  over  an  umbrella-rack, 
and  fell  to  the  floor.  Tom  assisted  him  to  rise,  with 
a  paternal  "  steady  now,  steady ;  that's  it,  lean  on 
me,"  and  so  helped  him  up  the  two  flights  of  steep, 
narrow  stairs.  In  all  the  world,  it  seemed  to  Seth, 
he  could  not  have  met  a  more  amiable  or  congenial 
friend  than  Tom,  and  he  told  him  so,  as  they 
climbed  the  stairs,  affectionately  leaning  upon  his 
arm,  and  making  his  phrases  as  ornate  in  diction 
and  warm  in  tone  as  he  could. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Tom,  opening  a  door,  and 
lighting  a  lamp  which  revealed  a  small,  scantily- 


ii8  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

furnished  room,  in  extreme  disorder.  "  Make  your- 
self at  home,  my  boy.  Smoke  a  pipe  before  you  go 
to  bed  ?  " 

u  Oh,  mercy,  no.  I  think — do  you  know,  I  feel  a 
little  dizzy." 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  Just  un- 
dress and  pile  into  bed.  I'll  smoke  a  pipe  first." 

Half  an  hour  after  Seth's  first  day  in  the  World 
had  closed  in  heavy  slumber,  Tom  looked  at  him 
before  blowing  out  the  light,  and  smiled  to  himself : 

"  He  is  about  as  fresh  as  they  make  'em." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   SANCTUM. 

THE  young  men  dressed  next  morning  in  almost 
complete  silence.  Tom  was  still  sleepy,  and  seemed 
much  less  jovial  and  attractive  than  he  had  been  the 
previous  evening;  Seth,  accustomed  to  far  earlier 
rising,  was  acutely  awake,  but  his  head  ached  wearily 
and  there  was  a  dreadful  dryness  in  his  mouth  and 
throat.  They  went  through  the  forms  of  breakfast 
in  the  basement,  too,  without  much  conversation. 
Seth  was  ashamed  of  the  number  of  cups  of  coffee 
he  drank,  and  carried  away  only  confused  recollec- 
tions of  having  been  introduced  to  a  middle-aged 
woman  in  black  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  of  having  perfunctorily  answered  sundry  ques- 
tions about  business  in  Dearborn  County,  put  by  a 
man  who  sat  next  to  him. 

They  were  well  on  their  way  to  the  office  before 
Tom's  silent  mood  wore  away. 

"You  must  brace  up  !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  let  Work- 
man know  that  we  were  out  together  last  night. 
He's  a  regular  crank  about  beer — that  is,  when  any- 
body but  himself  drinks  it.  What's  the  matter? 
You  look  as  melancholy  as  a  man  going  to  be 
hanged." 


120  Seth's  Brother's   Wife. 

"I  suppose  I'm  nervous  about  the  thing.  It's  all 
going  to  be  so  new  and  strange  at  the  start." 

"  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right.  You'll  get  the  hang  of 
it  fast  enough.  They  are  rather  decent  fellows  to 
work  with  upstairs,  all  but  Samboye.  He'll  try  to 
sit  on  you  from  the  start,  but  if  you  hold  your  own 
with  him  you'll  get  along  with  the  rest." 

"  Samboye — he's  the  editor,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"Yes.  You  don't  know  any  of  them,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Not  even  by  name." 

"  Well,  after  Workman,  who's  very  rightly  named, 
and  who  runs  the  thing,  there's  Samboye,  who  koo- 
toos  to  Workman  and  bullies  all  the  rest.  He  puts 
on  more  airs  than  a  mowing  machine  agent  at  a  state 
fair.  He  makes  everybody  tired.  Next  to  him 
comes  Tyler — Tony  Tyler,  you'll  like  him — that  is, 
if  he  takes  a  fancy  to  you.  He  knows  about  eight- 
een hundred  times  as  much  as  Samboye  does,  only 
somehow  he  hasn't  the  faculty  of  putting  it  on  pa- 
per. Too  much  whisky.  Then  there's  Dent — he's 
a  Young  Man  Christian  ;  plays  duets  on  the  piano 
with  his  sister,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
— but  he's  away  now  on  his  vacation.  And  then 
Billy  Murtagh — he's  a  rattling  good  fellow,  if  you 
don't  let  him  borrow  money  of  you.  He  does  part 
of  the  telegraph  and  news.  Those  are  the  only  fel- 
lows upstairs." 

"  But  where  do  you  come  in  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  Oh,  I'm  the  City  Editor.  I  and  my  gang 
are  downstairs.  I  made  a  strike  to  have  you  down 


The  Sanctum.  121 

with  me,  and  put  you  on  police  court,  but  Workman 
wouldn't  have  it.  It's  all  poppycock,  for  they've 
got  more  men  upstairs  now  than  they  know  what  to 
do  with.  However,  if  Workman  thinks  the  people 
want  to  read  editorials  on  the  condition  of  Mace- 
donia more  than  they  do  local  news,  he  can  go  ahead. 
It's  none  of  my  funeral." 

"  Do  you  know  what  special  work  I  am  to  do  ?  " 

"  From  all  I  hear,  it  would  be  easier  to  tell  what 
you're  not  to  do.  Everyone  of  them  has  got  a 
scheme  for  unloading  something  on  you.  First 
you're  to  do  a  lot  of  Dent's  work,  like  the  proofs 
and  Agricultural  and  Religious ;  then  Murtagh 
wants  to  put  State  News  on  you,  and  Tyler  tells 
me  you've  got  to  do  the  weekly  as  soon  as  you  get 
your  hand  in,  and  Art,  Music  and  the  Drama  is  a 
thing  that  must  go  up  stairs,  now  that  the  baseball 
season  has  begun,  for  I  can't  attend  to  it.  But  if 
they  play  it  too  low  down  on  you,  just  you  make  a 
stout  kick  to  Workman  about  it." 

While  Seth  pondered  this  outlook  and  advice,  they 
reached  the  Chronicle  office,  and  presently,  by  a  suc- 
cession of  dark  and  devious  stair-ways,  he  found 
himself  in  an  ancient  cockloft,  curiously  cut  up  by 
low  partitions  into  compartments  like  horse-stalls, 
each  with  a  window  at  the  end,  and  was  introduced 
as  "the  new  man"  to  Mr.  Anthony  Tyler,  other- 
wise Tony. 

This  gentleman  bore  no  outward  signs  of  the  ex- 
cess of  spirituous  liquor  to  which  Tom  had  alluded, 
and  was  very  cordial  and  pleasant.  He  was  ex- 


122  Scttis  Brothers   Wife. 

trcmcly  dark  in  hair,  beard  and  eyes,  seemed  to  be 
not  more  than  thirty,  and  sat  at  a  table  piled  high 
with  books,  clippings  and  the  like,  and  surrounded 
by  great  heaps  of  papers.  Tom  glanced  over  two 
or  three  of  these  latter,  and  then  went  off  humming 
a  tune  lightly  and  calling  out  to  Seth  in  imitation  of 
a  popular  air,  as  he  rattled  down  stairs  "  I'll  meet 
you  when  the  form  goes  down." 

Among  other  polite  questions  Tyler  asked  Seth 
where  he  was  stopping. 

"  Nowhere  permanently.  I  must  find  some  place. 
I  stopped  last  night  with  Mr.  Votts." 

"  With  whom  ?  " 

"  With  Mr.  Votts,  the  gentleman  who  just  left 
us." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Tom  Watts.  You've  got  his  name 
wrong." 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,  it  was  a  German  who  called 
him  that  last  evening,  and  I  was  misled  by  his  pro- 
nunciation." 

Mr.  Tyler's  face  grew  more  serious. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  here.  Let  me  give  you  some 
advice.  Don't  cultivate  Mr.  Watts'  German  friends. 
He's  not  a  bad  chap  of  his  sort,  but  he  drinks  alto- 
gether too  much  beer.  Who  drinks  beer,  thinks  beer, 
as  Johnson  says.  Perhaps  I  can  be  of  use  to  you 
in  the  matter  of  a  boarding  house.  Oh,  here's  Mur- 
tagh,"  he  continued  introducing  Seth  to  another 
tall,  slender  young  man  who  had  come  up  the  stairs 
with  an  arm-full  of  papers  ;  "  he  will  take  you  now, 
and  give  you  an  idea  of  your  work."  Whereupon 


The  Sanctiini.  123 

Mr.  Tyler  turned  again  to  his  papers  and  shears,  and 
Seth  followed  the  new  comer  to  the  farthest  stall  in 
the  row,  which  was  henceforth  to  be  his  own. 

There  came  a  brief  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the  after- 
noon when  what  seemed  to  the  novice  a  state  of 
the  wildest  excitement  reigned  in  the  editorial  room. 
An  inky  boy  in  a  huge  leather  apron  dashed  from 
stall  to  stall  shouting  an  interrogative  "  Thirty  for 
you?"  His  master  and  patron,  the  foreman,  also 
aproned  from  chin  to  knees,  with  shirt-sleeves  rolled 
to  the  biceps,  followed  with  the  same  mysterious 
question,  put  in  an  injured  and  indignant  tone.  A 
loud,  sharp  discussion  between  this  magnate  and 
Tyler,  profanely  dictatorial  on  the  one  side,  pro- 
fanely satirical  on  the  other,  rose  suddenly  and  filled 
the  room  with  its  clamor.  An  elderly  man,  bald  as 
a  billiard  ball,  and  dressed  like  a  clergyman,  came 
bounding  up  the  stairs,  pulling  out  his  watch  as  he 
advanced,  and  demanding  fiercely  the  reason  for  this 
delay.  There  was  an  outburst  of  explanation,  in 
which  four  or  five  voices  joined,  mingling  personal 
abuse  freely  with  their  analysis  of  the  situation. 
Tom  Watts  leaped  up  the  stairs  four  steps  at  a 
time  and  hurled  himself  into  the  controversy.  Seth 
could  distinguish  in  this  babel  of  exclamations  such 
phrases  as — 

"  You  better  get  some  india-rubber  chases  !  "  "  If 
that  fire's  cut  down,  you  might  as  well  not  go  to 
press  at  all !  "  "  If  somebody  would  get  down  here 
in  the  morning,  we  could  get  our  matter  up  in 


124  Seth- 5  Brothers    Wife. 

time."  "  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  getting  out  telegraph 
for  these  chuckle-headed  printers  to  throw  on  the 
floor  !  "  "  That  Mayhew  matter's  been  standing  on 
the  galleys  so  long  already  that  it's  got  grey-headed ! " 
"  By  the  Lord  Harry,  I'll  make  a  rule  that  the  next 
time  we  miss  the  Wyoming  mail  it  shall  be  taken 
out  of  your  wages  !  " 

Here  the  inky  boy  galloped  through  to  Seth  with 
a  proof-sheet,  shouting,  "  You've  got  a  minute  and 
a  half  to  read  this  in  ! "  The  bald,  elderly  gentle- 
man, who  seemed  to  be  Mr.  Workman,  came  and 
stood  over  Seth,  watch  in  hand,  scowling  impa- 
tiently. Under  this  embarrassment  the  wet  letters 
danced  before  his  eyes,  and  he  could  find  no  errors, 
though  it  turned  out  later  that  he  had  passed  "  ele- 
phant "  for  "  elopement  "  and  ruined  Watts'  chief 
sensation.  A  few  minutes  later,  the  clang  of  the 
presses  in  the  basement  shook  the  old  building, 
and  the  inky  boy  bustled  through  the  room  again, 
pitching  a  paper  into  each  of  the  stalls.  There  was 
a  moment  of  silence,  broken  only  by  the  soft  rus- 
tling of  the  damp  sheets.  Then  simultaneously 
from  the  several  tables  rose  a  chorus  of  violent  ob- 
jurgation. 

Seth  heard  the  voice  which  he  had  learned  was 
Samboye's  roar  out,  "  What  dash-dashed  idiot  has 
made  me  say  '  our  martyr  President  Abraham  Sin- 
clair ?  '  Stop  the  press !  "  There  were  other  voices  : 
"  Here's  two  lines  of  markets  upside  down  !  "  "  Oh, 
I  say,  this  is  too  bad.  Moycn  age  is  '  mayonaisc  '  in 
my  Shylock  notice,  and  it's  Mrs.  McCullough  instead 


The  Sanctum.  125 

of  Mr."  "  I'm  dashed  if  the  paper  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  read  at  all.  We  can't  have  such  proof-reading 
as  this !  " 

While  these  comments  were  still  proceeding  the 
noise  of  the  press  suddenly  ceased.  The  silence 
was  terrible  to  Seth's  guilty  consciousness,  for  he 
had  heard  enough  to  know  that  it  was  his  fault.  Mr. 
Workman  entered  the  room  again,  and  again  Sam- 
boye's  deep  voice  was  heard,  repeating  the  awful 
Sinclair-Lincoln  error.  Seth  had  looked  at  his  fresh 
copy  of  the  Chronicle,  with  some  vague  hope  that  the 
Editor  was  mistaken,  but  alas  !  it  was  too  true.  Mr. 
Workman  came  over  to  his  stall ;  he  had  put  his 
watch  back  in  his  pocket,  but  his  countenance  was 
stern  and  unbending. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Fairchild,  I  presume,"  he  said. 

Seth  rose  to  his  feet,  blushing,  and  murmured, 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  understood  from  your  brother  that  you  were 
used  to  newspaper  work." 

"  Well,  I  thought  I  was.  I  have  been  around  the 
Banner  of  Liberty  office  a  great  deal,  but  it  seems  so 
different  on  a  daily." 

"  H'm, — yes.     Well,  I  dare  say  you'll  learn." 

Luckily  the  press  started  up  again  here,  and  Mr. 
Workman,  looking  at  his  watch  once  more,  went 
down  stairs. 

Seth  felt  most  grievously  depressed.  Looking 
back,  his  first  day  had  been  full  of  mortification  and 
failure.  The  use  of  scissors  and  mucilage  brush  was 
painfully  unfamiliar  to  his  clumsy  fingers.  The 


126  Settis  Brother's   Wife. 

scope  and  intention  of  the  various  news  departments 
he  had  been  told  to  take  charge  of  were  unknown  to 
him,  and  he  had  watched  Murtagh  go  over  the  mat- 
ter he  submitted,  striking  out  page  after  page,  say- 
ing curtly,  "  We've  had  this,"  "  This  is  only  worth 
a  line  or  two,"  or  "  this  belongs  in  county  notes," 
with  a  sinking  heart.  His  duties  were  so  mechanical 
and  commonplace,  after  what  he  had  conceived  an 
editor's  functions  to  be,  that  his  ineptitude  was 
doubly  humiliating. 

Then  there  was  this  dreadful  proof-reading  failure. 
Murtagh  had  given  him  the  sample  proof-sheet  in 
the  back  of  the  dictionary  to  copy  his  marks  from — 
and  he  had  copied  them  with  such  scrupulous  efforts 
after  exactness  that  the  printers  couldn't  understand 
them.  These  printers — he  could  see  them  through 
the  windows  opposite,  standing  pensively  over  their 
tall  cases,  and  moving  their  right  arms  between  the 
frames  and  their  sticks  with  the  monotonous  regu- 
larity of  an  engine's  piston-rod — seemed  a  very  sar- 
castic and  disagreeable  body  of  men,  to  judge  by  the 
messages  of  criticism  on  his  system  of  marking 
which  the  inky  boy  had  delivered  for  them  with 
such  fidelity  and  enjoyment  during  the  day.  He 
had  eaten  nothing  since  the  early  breakfast,  and  felt 
faint  and  tired.  The  rain  outside,  beating  dismally 
on  the  window  and  the  tin  roof  beyond,  added  to 
his  gloom,  and  the  ceaseless  drumming  of  the  presses 
below  increased  his  headache. 

The  other  men  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  now 
save  to  talk,  but  he  turned  wearily  to  the  great 


The  Sanctum.  127 

mound  of  exchanges  from  which  Murtagh  had 
directed  him  to  extract  "  Society  Jottings "  and 
"Art,  Music  and  the  Drama"  after  the  paper  went 
to  press. 

He  spent  a  few  despairing  minutes  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  task — enough  to  see  clearly  that  it  was 
beyond  his  strength.  Society  was  Syriac  to  him, 
and  he  had  never  seen  a  play  acted,  beyond  an  oc- 
casional presentation  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  or 
"  The  Octoroon  "  by  strolling  tenth-rate  mummers 
in  the  tiny  hall  at  Thessaly.  How  could  he  select 
matter  for  such  departments?  He  wavered  for  a 
time,  from  a  disinclination  to  confront  men  who  had 
just  condemned  his  work  so  unsparingly,  but  at  last 
he  got  up  from  the  table  where  he  had  been  pinned 
all  day,  and  went  over  to  the  further  end  of  the 
room. 

There  was  a  sort  of  conclave  about  Tyler's  table. 
Both  he  and  Samboye  reclined  in  tipped-back  chairs, 
with  their  feet  upon  it ;  Watts  sat  on  the  table 
swinging  his  legs,  his  straw  hat  still  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  Murtagh  was  perched  in  the  window 
seat.  Their  conversation,  which  had  been  flowing 
freely,  stopped  as  Seth  approached.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  be  introduced  to  his  Editor,  Mr.  Samboye, 
but  no  one  seemed  to  think  of  it,  and  that  gentle- 
man himself  relieved  him  of  the  embarrassment  by 
nodding  not  uncourteously  but  with  formality. 

"  Mr.  Fairchild,"  he  said,  with  impressive  slowness, 
"  in  the  pursuit  of  a  high  career  you  will  be  power- 
fully aided  by  keeping  in  recollection  the  fact  that 


128  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

the  sixteenth  President  of  the  United  States  was 
named  Lincoln  and  not  Sinclair.  We  have  a  preju- 
dice too,  weak  as  it  may  seem,  in  favor  of  spelling 
'  interval '  with  a  '  v  '  rather  than  an  '  n '." 

Seth  did  not  find  it  so  difficult  to  address  this 
great  man  as  he  had  anticipated.  He  said  simply 
that  he  was  very  sorry,  but  the  work  was  utterly  new 
to  him,  it  was  his  first  day,  he  hoped  to  learn  soon, 
etc.  Emboldened  by  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  he 
added  his  doubts  about  being  able  to  satisfactorily 
preside  over  such  exacting  columns  as  "  Society  Jot- 
tings "  and  "Art,  Music  and  the  Drama  " — and  gave 
reasons. 

"  By  George ! "  cried  Watts,  "  I  envy  you  !  Just 
fancy  a  man  who  has  never  seen  anything  but 
4  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  ' — and  not  even  that  with  real 
Siberian  bloodhounds.  You  shall  begin  going  to- 
night. I'll  take  you  to  '  Muldoon's  Picnic.'  " 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,"  remarked  Mr.  Tyler,  "  you 
can  do  'Agricultural.'  You  must  know  that  right 
down  to  the  ground." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Seth,  "  I  think  I  ought  to  manage 
that.  The  truth  is,  most  of  the  stuff  the  papers 
print  for  farmers  is  nonsense — pure  rubbish." 

"  I  suppose  it  is.  I  know  that  Dent — he  is  a  New 
York  city  boy,  who  doesn't  know  clover  from  cab- 
bage— once  put  in  a  paragraph  about  the  importance 
of  feeding  chickens  on  rock  salt,  and  an  old  farmer 
from  Boltus  came  in  early  one  morning  and  whaled 
the  bookkeeper  out  of  his  boots  because  he  had  fol- 
lowed the  advice  and  killed  all  his  hens.  There 


The  Sanctum.  129 

must  be  some  funny  man  out  West  somewhere  who 
makes  up  these  bad  agricultural  paragraphs,  and  of 
course  they  get  copied.  How  can  fellows  like  Dent, 
for  instance,  tell  which  are  good  and  which  are  not  ? 
But  they  can't  fool  you,  and  that'll  be  an  advantage. 
Then  there's  Religious.  You  can  do  that  easily 
enough.  I  should  think." 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Murtagh,  "  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  lay  for  the  Obago  Evening  Mercury.  Every 
Saturday  that  has  a  column  of  religious.  Alec 
Watson,  a  fellow  in  that  office,  has  fifty-two  of  these 
columns,  extracts  from  Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  Wes- 
ley and  Spurgeon  and  that  sort  of  thing,  which  have 
been  running  in  the  Mercury  since  before  the  war. 
When  New  Year's  comes  he  starts  'em  going  again, 
round  and  round.  Nobody  knows  the  difference. 
Well,  their  columns  are  longer  than  ours,  so  each 
week  you  can  run  about  half  their  paragraphs — the 
shortest  ones — and  then  fill  in  with  some  news  notes, 
statistics,  you  know,  about  how  many  churches  the 
Moravians  have  now,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  You 
can  pick  those  up  during  the  week,  anywhere." 

"  Then  there  ought  to  be  some  originality  about 
it  too,"  said  Tom  Watts.  "  It  is  just  as  well  to 
sling  in  some  items  of  your  own,  I  think,  such  as 
'  There  is  a  growing  desire  among  the  Baptists  to 
have  Bishops,  like  other  people,'  or, '  It  is  understood 
that  at  the  coming  Consistory  the  Pope  will  create 
seven  new  American  Cardinals.'  That  last  is  a  par- 
ticularly good  point.  Every  once  in  a  while,  predict 
more  Cardinals.  It  doesn't  hurt  anybody,  and  it 
9 


130  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

makes  you  solid  when  the  thing  does  happen. 
There's  nothing  like  original  news  to  show  the  in- 
fluence of  journalism.  One  morning,  after  the  cakes 
had  been  bad  for  a  week,  heavy,  sour  or  something 
else,  I  said  to  my  landlady  that  I  believed  the  fault 
must  be  in  the  buckwheat.  She  said  no,  she  didn't 
think  so,  for  the  flour  looked  very  nice  indeed.  I 
put  a  line  in  '  Local  Glimpses '  that  day,  saying 
that  unfortunately  the  buckwheat  this  year  was  of 
inferior  quality,  and  the  very  next  morning  she 
apologised  to  me :  said  I  was  right ;  the  buckwheat 
was  bad  ;  she  had  read  so  in  the  Chronicle.  Can 
you  imagine  a  nobler  illustration  of  the  power  of 
the  press  ?  " 

Seth  looked  attentively  at  the  speaker,  to  see  if 
he  was  joking,  but  there  was  no  more  evidence  of 
mirth  in  his  thin  face  than  in  the  serious  tone  of  his 
voice.  None  of  the  others  laughed. 

Mr.  Samboye  said  some  of  the  most  remarkable 
things,  at  once  humorous  and  highly  original,  and 
put  in  an  elaborate  frame  of  big  unusual  words.  He 
was  a  huge  man  in  frame,  with  an  enormous  head, 
bushy  eyebrows,  heavy  whiskers,  a  ponderous  man- 
ner, a  tremendous  voice — in  fact  seemed  to  Seth 
precisely  the  kind  of  man  from  whom  delicate  wit, 
and  soft  shading  of  phrases  were  not  to  be  expected. 
He  happened  for  the  nonce  to  be  in  a  complaisant 
mood,  and  was  relaxing  himself  in  the  company  of 
"  his  young  men,"  as  he  liked  to  call  his  colleagues. 
But  ordinarily  he  was  overbearing  and  arbitrary,  and 
this  had  rankled  so  deeply  in  their  minds  that  they 


The  Sanctum.  131 

listened  with  apathy,  unresponsive,  to  his  choicest 
sallies,  and  Watts  even  combated  him,  with  scant 
courtesy  it  seemed  to  Seth. 

To  him  this  monologue  of  the  Editor's  was  a  rev- 
elation. He  had  never  heard  such  brilliant  talk, 
such  a  wonderful  mastery  of  words,  such  delicious 
humor.  He  drank  it  all  in  eagerly,  and  laughed 
aloud  at  its  broader  points — the  more  heartily,  per- 
haps, because  no  one  else  smiled.  This  display  of 
appreciation  bore  fruit  after  its  kind.  Before  Mr. 
Samboye  went  he  spoke  some  decidedly  gracious 
words  to  Seth,  saying  among  other  things : 

"  However  harshly  we  may  be  tempted  by  mo- 
mentary stress  of  emotion  to  speak,  always  remem- 
ber that  we  unitedly  feel  your  fresh  bucolic  interest 
in  things,  your  virginal  capacity  for  admiration,  and 
your  pristine  flush  of  enthusiasm  for  your  work  to 
be  distinct  acquisitions  to  the  paper,"  which  Seth 
felt  to  be  somewhat  nonsensical,  but  still  was  grate- 
ful for. 

After  Mr.  Samboye  had  gone,  Tom  Watts  took 
occasion  to  warn  him  in  an  aside : 

"  Be  careful  how  you  appear  to  curry  favor  with 
Samboye  before  the  other  fellows.  Oh,  I  know  you 
didn't  think  of  it — but  don't  laugh  at  his  jokes. 
They'll  think  you're  trying  to  climb  over  them,  and 
they'll  be  unpleasant  to  you,  perhaps." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THIRTEEN   MONTHS   OF  IT. 

GROWING  familiarity  with  his  work  did  not  restore 
to  Seth  the  lofty  conceptions  of  journalism's  duties 
and  delights  which  he  had  nourished  on  the  hill-side 
farm,  and  which  had  been  so  ingloriously  dimmed 
and  defaced  by  his  first  day's  experience. 

The  tasks  set  before  him,  to  which  he  gradually 
became  accustomed,  seemed  almost  as  unintellectual 
and  mechanical  as  the  ploughing  and  planting  he  had 
forsaken.  The  rule  of  condensation,  compression, 
continually  dinned  into  his  ears  by  his  mentors, 
robbed  his  labors  of  all  possible  charm.  To  "  boil 
down "  columns  of  narrative  into  a  few  lines  of 
bald,  cold  statement ;  to  chronicle  day  after  day  in 
the  curtest  form,  fires,  failures,  crimes,  disasters, 
deaths,  in  a  wearying  chain  of  uninteresting  news 
notes  ;  to  throw  remorselessly  into  the  journalistic 
crucible  all  the  work  of  imagination,  of  genius,  of 
deep  fine  thought  which  came  into  his  hands,  to- 
gether with  the  wordy  dross  spun  out  by  the  swarm 
of  superficial  scribblers,  and  extract  from  good  and 
bad  alike  only  the  meaningless,  miserable  fact — this 
was  a  task  against  which,  in  the  first  weeks  of  ex- 
perience, his  whole  soul  revolted. 


Thirteen  Months  of  It.  133 

By  the  time  he  had  become  reconciled  to  it,  and 
had  mastered  its  tricks,  his  dream  of  journalism 
as  the  most  exalted  of  all  departments  of  activity 
seemed  to  him  like  some  far-away  fantasy  of  child- 
hood. 

He  not  only  had  failed  to  draw  inspiration  from 
his  work;  it  was  already  ceasing  to  interest  him. 
Under  pleasanter  conditions,  he  felt  that  he  would 
have  at  least  liked  the  proof-reading  portion  of  the 
daily  routine ;  but  the  printers  were  so  truculent 
and  hostile,  and  seemed  so  pre-determined  to  treat 
him  as  their  natural  enemy,  that  this  was  irksome, 
too.  There  was  no  relief  to  the  distasteful  monot- 
ony in  other  branches  of  his  work.  Even  the  agri- 
cultural column,  which  he  had  promised  himself  to 
so  vastly  improve,  yielded  no  satisfaction.  The 
floating,  valueless  stuff  from  which  his  predecessors 
had  selected  their  store  came  so  easily  and  naturally 
to  the  scissors  that  after  a  week  or  two  he  aban- 
doned the  idea  of  preparing  original  matter :  it 
saved  time  and  labor,  and  nobody  seemed  to  know 
the  difference.  These  words,  in  fact,  came  to  de- 
scribe his  mental  attitude  toward  all  his  work.  He 
had  no  pride  in  it.  If  he  escaped  curses  for  badly- 
read  proofs,  and  criticism  for  missing  obvious  matters 
of  news,  it  was  enough. 

Seth  did  not  arrive  at  this  condition  of  mind  with- 
out much  inner  protest,  or  without  sundry  efforts  to 
break  through  the  crust  of  perfunctory  drudgery 
which  was  encasing  him.  At  the  start  he  bestowed 
considerable  thought  and  work  upon  an  effort  to 


134  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

brighten  and  improve,  by  careful  re-working  of  ma- 
terials, one  of  the  departments  entrusted  to  him, 
and,  just  when  he  expected  praise,  Tyler  told  him 
to  stop  it.  Then  he  tried  to  make  his  religious  col- 
umn a  feature  by  discarding  most  of  the  ancient 
matter  which  revolved  so  drolly  in  the  Obago  Even- 
ing Mercury,  and  picking  out  eloquent  bits  from  the 
sermons  of  great  contemporary  preachers ;  but  this 
elicited  denominational  protest  from  certain  pious 
subscribers,  and  Mr.  Workman  commanded  a  return 
to  the  old  rut. 

But  the  cruel  humiliation  came  when  Seth  took 
to  Mr.  Samboye  an  editorial  paragraph  he  had  writ- 
ten with  great  care.  It  was  a  political  paragraph, 
and  Seth  felt  confident  that  it  was  exactly  in  the 
Chronicle's  line,  and  good  writing  as  well.  The 
Editor  took  it,  after  regarding  the  young  writer  with 
a  stony,  half-surprised  stare,  and  read  it  over  slowly. 
He  delivered  judgment  upon  it,  in  his  habitual 
pomposity  of  phrases :  "  This  is  markedly  compre- 
hensive in  scope  and  clarified  in  expression,  Mr. 
Fairchild."  Then,  as  Seth's  heart  was  warming 
with  a  sense  of  commendation  and  success,  the 
Editor  calmly  tore  the  manuscript  in  strips,  dropped 
them  in  his  waste-basket,  and  turned  reflectively  to 
his  newspaper. 

Seth's  breath  nearly  left  him :  "  Then  you  can't 
use  it ;  "  he  faltered.  "  I  thought  it  might  do  for  an 
editorial  paragraph.'' 

There  was  the  faintest  suggestion  of  a  patronising 
smile  on  Mr.  Samboye's  broad,  ruddy  face. 


Thirteen  Months  of  It.  135 

"  Oh,  I  am  reminded,  Mr.  Fairchild,"  he  answered, 
with  bland  irrelevance  ;  "  pray  do  not  allow  Porte 
to  pass  again  with  a  small  p,  as  you  did  yesterday 
in  the  proof  of  my  Turkish  article.  It  should  be 
capitalized  invariably." 

The  beginner  went  back  to  his  stall  both  humil- 
iated and  angry.  The  cool  insolence  with  which  he 
had  been  reminded  that  he  was  a  proof-reader,  and 
warned  away  from  thoughts  of  the  editorial  page, 
enraged  and  depressed  him.  He  passed  a  bitter 
hour  at  his  table,  looking  savagely  through  the  win- 
dow at  the  automatic  motions  of  the  printer  directly 
opposite,  but  thinking  evil  thoughts  of  Samboye, 
and  cursing  the  fate  which  had  led  him  into  news- 
paper work.  So  uncomfortable  did  he  make  himself 
by  these  reflections  that  it  required  a  real  effort  to 
throw  off  their  effects  when  Watts  came  upstairs, 
and  the  two  left  the  office  for  the  day.  It  was  im- 
possible not  to  relate  his  grievance. 

Tom  did  not  see  its  tragic  side,  and  refused  ut- 
terly to  concede  that  Seth  ought  to  be  cast  down 
by  it. 

"  That's  only  Samboye's  way,"  he  said,  lightly. 
"  He  won't  let  any  of  the  fellows  get  on  to  the  page, 
simply  because  he's  afraid  they'll  outwrite  him. 
He'd  rather  do  it  all  himself — and  he  does  grind  out 
an  immense  load  of  stuff — than  encourage  any  rivals. 
Besides,  he  never  loses  a  chance  to  snub  young- 
sters. Don't  let  it  worry  you  for  a  minute.  If  he 
sees  that  it  does,  he'll  only  pile  it  on  the  thicker. 
In  this  business  you've  got  to  have  a  hide  on  you 


136  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

like  the  behemoth  of  Holy  Writ,  or  you'll  keep  raw 
all  the  while." 

Seth  found  some  consolation  in  this  view,  and 
more  still  in  Tom's  cheery  tone.  The  two  young 
men  spent  the  evening  together — at  Bismarck's. 

This  came  gradually  but  naturally  to  be  Seth's 
habitual  evening  resort.  It  represented  to  him,  in- 
deed, all  that  was  friendly  and  inviting  in  Tecumseh 
society.  He  was  able  to  recall  dimly  some  of  the 
notions  of  coming  social  distinction  he  indulged  in 
the  farm  days — dreams  of  a  handsome  young  editor 
who  was  in  great  request  in  the  most  refined  and 
luxurious  home  circles,  who  said  the  most  charming 
things  to  beautiful  young  ladies  at  parties  and  balls, 
who  wavered  in  his  mind  between  wedding  his  em- 
ployer's daughter  and  taking  a  share  in  the  paper,  or 
choosing  some  lowlier  but  more  intellectual  maid  to 
wife,  and  leading  with  her  a  halcyon  and  exaltedly 
literary  career  in  a  cottage — but  they  were  as  unreal, 
as  indistinct  now  as  the  dreams  of  night  before  last. 
All  the  social  bars  seemed  drawn  against  him  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

This  did  not  impress  him  as  a  hardship,  because 
he  was  only  vaguely  conscious  of  it,  at  first,  and 
then  grew  into  the  habit  of  regarding  it  as  a  thing 
to  be  grateful  for.  Tom  Watts  pointed  out  to  him 
frequently  the  advantage  of  being  a  Bohemian,  of 
being  free  from  all  the  fearsome,  undefined  routine 
and  responsibility  of  making  calls,  of  dressing  up 
in  the  evening,  and  of  dangling  supine  attendance 
upon  girls  and  their  mammas.  This  "  social  racket," 


Thirteen  Months  of  It.  137 

the  city  editor  said,  might  please  some  people ;  Dent, 
for  instance,  seemed  to  like  it.  But  for  his  part  it 
seemed  quite  the  weakest  thing  a  young  man  could 
go  in  for — entirely  incompatible  with  the  robust 
and  masculine  character  demanded  in  a  successful 
journalist. 

This  presented  itself  to  Seth  as  an  extremely 
sound  position,  and  he  made  it  his  own  so  willingly 
that  very  soon  he  began  to  take  credit  to  himself  in  • 
his  own  eyes  for  having  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
social  siren,  and  having  deliberately  rejected  the  ad- 
vances of  fashionable  Tecumseh.  He_grew  really 
to  believe  that  it  was  by  preference,  by  a  wise  reso- 
lution to  preserve  his  freedom  and  individuality, 
that  he  remained  outside  the  mysterious,  impalpable 
regions  which  were  labelled  in  his  mind  as  "  Society." 
On  the  other  hand,  there  was  no  nonsense  at  Bis- 
marck's, or  at  the  other  similar  beer  halls  to  which 
Tom  introduced  him.  One  dressed  as  one  chose, 
and  did  as  one  liked  ;  seven-up  or  penochle  provided 
just  the  mental  recreation  a  wearied  literary  brain 
demanded  ;  and  the  fellows  one  met  there  were  cheer- 
ful, companionable  young  men,  who  likewise  had  no 
nonsense  about  them,  who  put  on  no  airs  of  supe- 
riority, and  who  glided  swiftly  and  jovially  through 
the  grades  of  acquaintanceship  to  intimacy. 

Seth  was  greatly  strengthened  in  his  liking  for 
this  refuge  from  loneliness  in  a  strange  city  by  what 
he  saw  of  Arthur  Dent,  whom  Watts  had  prepared 
him  to  regard  as  the  embodiment  of  the  other  and 
strait-laced  side. 


138  Sctlis  Brothers   Wife. 

This  young  man  was  not  at  all  uncivil,  but  he  was 
delicate,  almost  effeminate  in  frame,  wore  eye-glasses, 
dressed  with  fastidious  neatness,  never  made  any 
jokes  or  laughed  heartily  at  those  of  others,  and 
rarely  joined  the  daily  lounge  and  smoke  around 
Tyler's  table  after  the  paper  had  gone  to  press — and 
in  all  these  things  he  grated  upon  Seth's  sensitive- 
ness. He  was  the  one  member  of  the  staff  whom 
Mr.  Workman  seemed  to  like  and  whom  Mr.  Sam- 
boye  never  humiliated  publicly  by  his  ponderous 
ridicule,  and  these  were  added  grievances.  He 
worked  very  steadily  and  carefully,  and  was  said  to 
do  a  good  deal  of  heavy  reading  at  home,  evenings, 
in  addition  to  the  slavish  routine  of  high  social 
duties  in  which  Seth  indefinitely  understood  him  to 
be  immersed.  His  chief  tasks  were  the  book  re- 
views, the  editing  of  correspondence,  and  the  prep- 
aration of  minor  editorial  paragraphs  in  a  smaller  type 
than  Mr.  Samboye's.  Seth  thought  that  his  style, 
though  correct  and  neat,  was  thin  and  emasculated, 
and  he  came  to  associate  this  with  his  estimate  of 
the  writer,  and  account  for  it  by  his  habits  and  asso- 
ciations— which  the  further  confirmed  him  in  his 
judgment  as  to  the  right  way  to  live. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  this.  The 
first  few  days  after  his  return  from  his  vacation,  Dent 
had  tried  to  be  courteous  and  helpful  to  the  new- 
comer from  the  country,  in  his  shy,  undemonstrative 
way,  and  Seth,  despite  his  preconceived  prejudice, 
had  gone  a  little  way  on  the  road  to  friendship. 
Then  one  night,  as  he  and  Watts  were  returning 


Thirteen  Months  of  It.  139 

arm-in-arm  to  their  joint  lodgings  from  Bismarck's, 
a  trifle  unsteadily  perhaps,  they  had  encountered 
Dent  walking  with  a  young  lady,  and  Tom  had 
pleasantly  accosted  them — at  least  it  seemed  pleas- 
antly to  Seth — but  Dent  had  not  taken  it  in  the 
right  spirit  at  the  time,  and  had  been  decidedly  cool 
to  Seth  ever  since.  This  was  so  unreasonable  that 
the  country  boy  resented  it  deeply,  and  the  two 
barely  spoke  to  each  other. 

His  relations  with  the  others  were  less  strained, 
but  scarcely  more  valuable  in  the  way  of  companion- 
ship. Mr.  Tyler  did  not  seem  to  care  much  for  his 
company,  and  never  asked  him  to  go  to  the  "  Roast 
Beef" — a  sort  of  combination  of  club  and  saloon 
where  he  spent  most  of  his  evenings,  where  poker 
was  the  chief  amusement  and  whisky  the  principal 
drink.  From  all  Seth  could  learn,  it  was  as  well  for 
him  that  he  was  not  invited  there.  As  for  Murtagh, 
all  his  associations  outside  the  office  seemed  to  be 
with  young  men  of  his  own  race,  who  formed  a  coterie 
by  themselves,  and  frequented  distinctively  Irish  re- 
sorts. Like  most  other  American  cities  Tecumseh 
had  its  large  Irish  and  German  elements,  and  in 
nothing  were  ethnographic  lines  drawn  so  clearly  as 
in  the  matter  of  amusements.  There  were  enough 
young  Americans  holding  aloof  from  both  these 
foreign  circles  to  constitute  a  small  constituency  for 
the  "  Roast  Beef,"  but  a  far  greater  number  had 
developed  a  liking  for  the  German  places  of  resort, 
and  drank  beer  and  ate  cheese  and  rye  bread  as  if  to 
the  manner  born.  Seth  found  himself  in  this  class 


140  Set /is  Brother  s   Wife. 

on  his  first  step  over  the  threshold  of  city  life ;  he 
enjoyed  it,  and  he  saw  very  little  of  the  others. 

The  two  most  important  men  on  the  Chronicle, 
Mr.  Workman  and  Mr.  Samboye,  were  far  removed 
from  the  plane  upon  which  all  these  Bohemian  divis- 
ions were  traced.  They  belonged  to  the  Club — the 
Tuscarora  Club.  Seth  knew  where  the  club  house 
was — but  he  felt  that  this  was  all  he  was  ever  likely 
to  know  about  it.  The  first  few  days  in  Tecumseh 
had  taught  him  the  hopelessness  of  his  dream  of  as- 
sociating with  his  employer.  Socially  they  were 
leagues  apart  at  the  outset,  and  if  the  distance  did 
not  increase  as  weeks  grew  into  months,  at  least 
Seth's  perception  of  it  did,  which  amounted  to  the 
same  thing. 

He  did  not  so  readily  abandon  the  idea  of  being 
made  a  companion  by  Samboye,  but  at  last  that 
vanished  too.  The  Editor  held  himself  very  high, 
and  if  he  occasionally  came  down  off  his  mountain 
top,  his  return  to  those  heights  only  served  to  em- 
phasize their  altitude.  There  were  conflicting  stories 
about  his  salary.  Among  the  lesser  lights  of  the 
editorial  room  it  was  commonly  estimated  at  forty- 
five  dollars  a  week,  but  some  of  the  printers  had  in- 
formation that  it  was  at  least  fifty — which  fatigued 
the  imagination.  Seth  himself  received  nine  dollars, 
which  his  brother  supplemented  by  five,  and  he 
found  that  he  was  regarded  as  doing  remarkably 
well  for  a  beginner.  But  between  this  condition  and 
the  state  of  Samboye  with  his  great  income,  his  fine 
house  on  one  of  the  best  streets,  his  influential  posi- 


Thirteen  Months  of  It.  141 

tion  in  the  city,  and  his  luxurious  amusements  at  the 
Club,  an  impassable  gulf  yawned. 

There  is  no  pleasure  in  following  further  the  de- 
tails of  the  country  boy's  new  life.  He.lost  sight  of 
his  disappointment  in  the  consolations  of  a  phase  of 
city  existence  which  does  not  show  to  advantage  in 
polite  pages.  He  did  not  become  vicious  or  de- 
praved. The  relentless  treadmill  of  a  daily  paper 
forbade  his  becoming  indolent.  By  sheer  force  of 
contact  his  mind  expanded,  too,  more  than  even  he 
suspected.  But  it  was  a  formless,  unprofitable  ex- 
pansion, which  did  not  help  him  to  get  out  of  the 
rut.  He  performed  his  work  acceptably — at  least  he 
rarely  heard  any  criticisms  upon  it — lived  a  trifle 
ahead  of  his  small  income,  and  ceased  to  even  spec- 
ulate on  the  chance  of  promotion. 

When,  thirteen  months  after  his  advent  in  Tecum- 
seh,  the  news  came  to  him  from  the  farm  that  his 
father  was  dying,  he  obtained  leave  to  go  home. 
Mr.  Workman  remarked  to  Mr.  Samboye  that  after- 
noon : 

"I  shan't  mind  much  if  Fairchild  doesn't  come 
back." 

"  Is  that  so?  He  seems  to  get  through  his  work 
decently  and  inoffensively  enough.  He  will  never 
set  the  North  River  ablaze,  of  course,  but  he  is  civil 
and  all  that." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can't  see  that  there's  anything  in  him. 
Beside,  I  don't  like  his  influence  on  Watts.  I'm 
told  you  can  find  them  together  at  Bismarck's  every 
night  in  the  week." 


142  Set  Its  Brothers   Wife. 

"Of  course,  that  makes  it  bad,"  said  Mr.  Sam- 
boye. 

Then  the  proprietor  and  the  editor  locked  up  their 
desks,  went  over  to  the  Club,  and  played  pyramid 
pool  till  midnight. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

BACK     ON     THE     FARM. 

THE  farm  seemed  very  little  like  home  to  Seth, 
now  that  he  was  back  once  more  upon  it.  He  could 
neither  fit  himself  familiarly  into  such  of  the  old 
ways  as  remained  nor  altogether  appetize  the  changes 
which  he  felt  rather  than  discerned  about  him. 

Of  all  these  alterations  his  father's  disappearance 
was  among  the  least  important.  Everybody  had 
grown  out  of  the  habit  of  considering  Lemuel  as  a 
factor  in  any  question.  Nobody  missed  him  now 
that  he  was  gone,  or  felt  that  it  was  specially  incum- 
bent to  pretend  to  do  so — nobody  save  Aunt  Sabrina. 
Those  who  cared  to  look  closely  could  see  that  the 
old  maid  was  shaken  by  her  weak  brother's  death, 
and  that,  though  she  said  little  or  nothing  about  it, 
an  augmented  sense  of  loneliness  preyed  upon  her 
mind.  For  the  rest,  the  event  imposed  a  day  or  two 
of  solemnity,  some  alterations  of  dress  and  demeanor, 
a  sombre  journey  with  a  few  neighbors  to  the  little 
burial  plot  beyond  the  orchard — and  then  things  re- 
sumed their  wonted  aspect. 

To  the  young  journalist  this  aspect  was  strange 
and  curious.  The  farm  had  put  on  a  new  guise  to 
his  eyes.  It  was  as  if  some  mighty  hand  and  brush 


144  Seth's  Brother's   Wife. 

had  painted  it  all  over  with  bright  colors.  It  was 
not  only  that  the  house  had  been  restored  and  refur- 
nished, that  new  spacious  buildings  replaced  the  an- 
cient barns,  that  the  fences  had  been  rebuilt,  the 
farm  yard  cleaned  up  and  sodded,  the  old  well-curb 
and  reach  removed — the  very  grass  seemed  greener, 
the  bending  of  the  boughs  more  graceful,  the  charm 
of  sky  and  foliage  and  verdure  far  more  apparent. 
The  cattle  were  plumper  and  cleaner;  there  were 
carriage  horses  now,  with  bright  harness  and  sweep- 
ing tails,  and  a  costly  black  mare  for  the  saddle,  fleet 
as  the  wind:  the  food  on  the  table  was  more  uni- 
formly toothsome,  and  there  were  now  the  broad  sil- 
ver-plated forks  to  which  Seth  had  somewhat  labori- 
ously become  accustomed  in  his  Tecumseh  boarding- 
house.  He  admired  all  these  changes,  in  a  way,  but 
somehow  he  could  not  feel  at  home  among  them. 
They  were  attractive,  but  they  were  alien  to  the 
memories  which,  in  his  crowded,  bricked-up  city 
solitude,  had  grown  dear  to  him. 

There  were  droll  changes  among  the  hired  people. 
For  one  thing,  they  no  longer  all  ate  at  the  table 
with  the  family.  An  exception  was  made  in  favor  of 
Milton  Squires,  who  had  burst  through  the  overalls 
chrysalis  of  hired-manhood,  and  had  become  a  sort 
of  superintendent.  He  had  not  learned  to  eat  with 
a  fork,  and  he  still  talked  loudly  and  with  boisterous 
familiarity  at  the  table,  reaching  for  whatever  he 
wanted,  and  calling  the  proprietor  "Albert,"  and  his 
aunt  "  Sabriny."  He  did  not  bear  his  social  and  in- 
dustrial promotion  meekly.  He  bullied  the  inferior 


Back  on  the  Farm.  145 

hired  men — Leander  had  a  colleague  now,  a  rough, 
tow-headed,  burly  young  fellow  named  Dana  Pills- 
bury — and  snubbed  loftily  the  menials  of  the  kitchen. 
This  former  haunt  scarcely  knew  him  more,  and  his 
rare  conversations  with  Alvira  were  all  distinctly 
framed  in  condescension.  This  was  only  to  be  ex- 
pected, for  Milton  wore  a  black  suit  of  store-clothes 
every  day,  with  a  gold-plated  watch  chain  and  a  neck- 
tie, and  met  the  farmers  round  about  on  terms  of 
practical  equality.  He  was  reputed  to  be  a  careful 
and  capable  manager ;  his  wrath  was  feared  at  the 
cheese-factory ;  his  judgment  was  respected  at  the 
corners'  store.  Naturally,  such  a  man  would  feel 
himself  above  kitchen  associations. 

Of  course  this  defection  evoked  deep  wrath  in  Al- 
vira's  part  of  the  house,  some  overflowings  of  which 
came  to  Seth's  notice  before  he  had  been  a  day  at  the 
farm.  Alvira  was  not  specially  changed  to  the  young 
man's  eyes — indeed  her  sallow,  bilious  visage,  dark 
snapping  eyes  and  furrowed  forehead  seemed  the 
most  familiar  things  about  the  homestead,  and  her 
acidulous  tones  struck  a  truer  note  in  his  chords  of 
memory  than  did  any  other  sound. 
.  Aunt  Sabrina,  wrapped  as  of  old  in  her  red  plaid 
shoulder  shawl,  but  seemingly  less  erect  and  aggres- 
sive, spent  most  of  her  time  in  the  kitchen,  ostenta- 
tiously pretending  to  pay  her  board  by  culinary 
labor.  Behind  her  back  Alvira  was  wont  to  say  to 
her  assistant,  a  slatternly  young  slip  from  the  ever- 
spreading  Lawton  family  tree,  that  the  old  lady  only 
hindered  the  work,  and  that  her  room  would  be  bet- 


146  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

ter  than  her  company.  But  when  Aunt  Sabrina  was 
present,  Alvira  was  customarily  civil,  sometimes  quite 
friendly.  The  two  were  drawn  together  by  commu- 
nity of  grievance. 

They  both  hated  Isabel,  with  her  citified  notions, 
her  forks  and  napkins,  and  stuck-up  airs  generally. 
It  had  pleased  Aunt  Sabrina's  mood  to  regard  her- 
self as  included  in  the  edict  which  ordained  that 
servants  should  eat  in  the  kitchen,  and  only  the 
sharpest  words  she  had  ever  heard  Albert  speak  had 
prevented  her  acting  upon  this.  She  had  come  to 
the  family  table,  then,  but  always  with  an  air  of  pro- 
test; and  she  had  a  grim  pleasure  in  leaving  her 
napkin  unfolded,  month  after  month,  and  in  keeping 
everybody  waiting  while  she  paraded  her  inability  to 
eat  rapidly  or  satisfactorily  with  the  new  fangled 
"  split  spoon." 

She  and  Alvira  had  a  never-failing  topic  of  hostile 
talk  in  the  new  mistress.  To  judge  by  their  threats, 
their  jibes  and  their  angry  complaints,  they  were  al- 
ways on  the  point  of  leaving  the  house  on  her  ac- 
count. So  imminent  did  an  outbreak  seem  to  Seth, 
when  he  first  heard  their  joint  budget  of  woes  and 
bitter  resolves,  that  he  was  frightened,  but  the  Law- 
ton  girl  reassured  him.  They  had  talked  just  like 
that,  she  said,  every  day  since  she  had  been  there, 
which  would  be  "  a  year  come  August,"  and  she 
added  scornfully :  "  They  go  away  ?  You  couldn't 
chase  'em  away  with  a  clothes-pole  !  " 

The  two  elderly  females  had  another  bond  of  sym- 
pathy, of  course,  in  Milton's  affectation  of  superiority. 


Back  on  the  Farm.  147 

They  debated  this  continually,  though  as  Sabrina 
had  the  most  to  say  about  her  niece-in-law,  with  Al- 
vira  as  a  sympathetic  commentator,  so  the  hateful 
apotheosis  of  the  whilom  hired-man  was  recognized 
to  be  Alvira's  special  and  personal  grievance,  in  gird- 
ing at  which  Sabrina  bore  only  a  helping  part. , 

Seth  accounted  for  this  by  calling  up  in  recollec- 
tion an  old  vague  understanding  of  his  youth  that 
Milton  was  some  time  going  to  marry  Alvira.  He 
could  remember  having  heard  this  union  spoken  of 
as  taken  for  granted  in  the  family.  Doubtless  Al- 
vira's present  attitude  of  ugly  criticism  was  due  to 
the  fear  that  Milton's  improved  prospects  would 
lead  him  elsewhere.  The  Lawton  girl  indeed  hinted 
rather  broadly  to  him  that  there  were  substantial 
grounds  for  Alvira's  rage.  "  I'd  tear  his  eyes  out  if 
I  was  her,  and  he  wouldn't  come  up  to  the  scratch," 
she  said,  "  after  all  that's  happened."  Seth  under- 
stood her  suggestion,  but  he  didn't  believe  it.  The 
Lawtons  were  a  low-down  race,  anyway.  He  had 
seen  one  of  the  girls  at  Tecumseh  once,  a  girl  who 
had  gone  utterly  to  the  bad,  and  this  sister  of  hers 
seemed  a  bold,  rude  huzzy,  with  a  mind  prone  to 
mean  suspicions. 

It  was  a  relief  to  go  back  again  to  the  living-room, 
where  Isabel  was,  and  he  both  verbally  and  mentally 
justified  her  gentle  hint  that  the  kitchen  was  not  a 
good  place  for  young  men  to  spend  their  time. 

"  You  have  no  idea,"  she  said,  letting  her  em- 
broidery fall  in  her  lap  for  the  moment,  "  how  ruin- 
ous to  discipline  and  to  household  management 


148  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

generally  this  country  plan  of  making  companions 
of  your  servants  is.  I  had  to  put  a  complete  stop 
to  it,  very  soon  after  I  came.  There  would  be  no 
living  with  them  otherwise.  There's  not  much  com- 
fort in  living  with  them  as  it  is,  for  your  Aunt  sits 
out  in  the  kitchen  all  day  long,  pretending  that  she 
is  abused  and  encouraging  them  to  think  that  they 
are  ill-used  too.  She  makes  it  very  hard  for  me — 
harping  all  the  time  on  my  being  a  Richardson,  just 
as  she  did  with  your  mother. 

"  Then  there's  Milton.  I  did  not  want  to  make 
any  difference  between  him  and  the  other  hired 
people,  but  your  brother  insisted  on  it — on  having 
him  at  the  table  with  us,  and  treating  him  like  an 
equal.  He  is  as  coarse  and  rough  and  horrid  as  he 
can  be,  but  it  seems  that  he  is  very  necessary  on  the 
farm,  and  your  brother  leaves  so  much  to  him  and 
relies  so  much  on  him  that  I  couldn't  help  myself. 
He  hasn't  got  to  calling  me  '  Isabel '  yet,  but  I  ex- 
pect him  to  begin  every  day  of  my  life.  You  can't 
imagine  what  an  infliction  it  is  to  see  him  eat — or 
rather,  to  hear  him,  for  I  try  not  to  look." 

Isabel  took  up  her  work  again,  and  Seth  looked 
at  her  more  closely  than  he  had  done  before.  She 
sat  at  the  window,  with  the  full  summer  light  on 
her  bright  hair  and  fair,  pretty  face.  Her  tone  had 
been  melancholy,  almost  mournful  ;  looking  at  her, 
Seth  felt  that  she  was  not  happy,  and  more — for  he 
had  never  supposed  her  to  be  particularly  happy — 
that  she  was  bitterly  disappointed  with  the  result  of 
the  farm  experiment.  She  had  not  said  so,  however, 


Back  on  the  Farm.  149 

and  he  was  in  doubt  whether  it  would  be  wise  for 
him  to  assume  it  in  his  conversation. 

"Albert  seems  to  thrive  on  country  fare,"  he 
said,  perhaps  unconsciously  suggesting  in  his  remark 
what  was  turning  in  his  mind — that  she  herself 
seemed  not  have  thrived.  The  rounded  outlines  of 
her  chin  and  throat  were  not  so  perfect  as  he  re- 
membered them.  She  looked  thin  and  tired  now, 
in  the  strong  light,  and  there  was  no  color  to  speak 
of  in  her  face. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said,  with  that  falling  inflection 
which  is  sister  to  the  sigh,  and  keeping  her  eyes  bent 
upon  her  work,  "  he  grows  fat.  I  did  not  imagine 
that  a  man  who  had  always  been  so  active,  who 
was  so  accustomed  to  regular  office  work  and  intel- 
lectual professional  pursuits,  could  fall  into  idle 
ways  so  easily.  But  it  is  always  a  bore  to  him  now 
when  he  has  to  go  down  to  New  York  at  term 
time.  Once  or  twice  he  has  had  a  coolness  with  his 
partners  because  he  failed  to  go  at  all.  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  he  gave  New  York  up  altogether. 
He  talks  often  of  it — of  practising  at  Tecumseh 
instead.  Oh,  and  that  reminds  me.  You  can  tell. 
What  relation  does  Tecumseh  bear  to  this  place  ? 
I  know  they  have  some  connection  in  his  mind, 
because  he  spoke  once  of  the  'pull' — whatever 
that  may  mean — being  a  Tecumseh  lawyer  would 
give  him  here.  I  know  they  are  not  in  the  same 
county,  for  I  looked  on  the  map.  Whatever  it  is, 
that  would  be  his  purpose  in  going  there,  I  am 
curious  to  learn.  You  know,"  she  added,  with  a 


150  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

smile  and  tone  pathetic  in  their  sarcasm,  "  a  wife 
ought  to  be  interested  in  whatever  concerns  her 
husband." 

"They  are  in  the  same  Congressional  district," 
Seth  replied.  "  There  are  three  counties  in  the  dis- 
trict, Dearborn  (where  we  are  now),  Jay,  which  lies 
east  of  us,  and  then  Adams,  which  is  a  long,  narrow 
county,  and  runs  off  South  of  Dearborn.  Tecumseh 
is  away  at  the  extreme  southern  end  of  Adams 
county.  Perhaps  that  is  what  you  have  in  mind." 

"  It  is  what  he  has  in  mind,"  she  said. 

"But  how  does  Albert  fill  his  time  here — what 
does  he  do?" 

"  In  about  equal  parts,"  she  made  answer,  lifting 
her  eyes  again,  with  the  light  of  a  little  smile  in  them 
now,  "  he  reads  novels  here  in  the  house,  and  drives 
about  the  neighborhood.  What  time  he  is  not  in 
the  easy-chair  upstairs,  devouring  fiction,  he  is  in  his 
buggy  on  the  road.  He  won't  let  me  have  anybody 
up  from  New  York,  even  of  the  few  I  know,  but  he 
has  developed  a  wonderful  taste  for  striking  up  ac- 
quaintances here.  He  must  by  this  time  know  every 
farmer  for  twenty  miles  around.  First  of  all,  in 
buying  his  stock  when  he  took  the  farm,  he  spread 
his  purchases  around  in  the  queerest  way  —  get- 
ting a  cow  from  this  man,  a  colt  from  another,  a  pig 
here  and  a  bull  there.  Milton  and  he  went  together, 
and  they  must  have  driven  two  hundred  miles,  I 
should  think,  collecting  the  various  animals. 

"  I  didn't  understand  it  at  first,  but  I  begin  to 
now.  He  wanted  to  establish  relations  with  as 


Back  on  the  Farm.  151 

many  men  here  as  he  could.  And  the  farmers  he 
invites  here  to  dinner — you  should  see  them  !  Some- 
times I  think  I  shall  have  to  leave  the  table.  It's 
all  I  can  do,  often,  to  be  decently  civil  to  them, 
rough,  vulgar  men,  unwashed  and  untidy,  whom  he 
waylays  out  on  the  road  and  brings  in.  He  thinks 
I  ought  to  exert  myself  to  make  them  feel  at  home, 
and  chat  with  them  about  their  wives  and  children, 
and  ugh  !  call  on  them  and  form  friendships  with 
them.  But  I  draw  the  line  there.  If  he  enjoys 
bringing  them  here,  why  I  can't  help  it ;  and  if  he 
likes  to  drive  about,  and  be  hail-fellow-well-met  with 
them,  that  is  his  own  affair.  But " 

She  stopped,  and  Seth  felt  that  the  silence  was 
eloquent.  He  began  to  realize  that  his  pretty  sister- 
in-law  was  in  need  of  sympathy,  and  to  rank  himself, 
with  indignant  fervor,  on  her  side. 

Annie  Fairchild  came  in.  Seth  had  seen  and 
spoken  with  her  several  times,  during  the  period  of 
his  father's  death  and  funeral,  but  hurriedly  and  in 
the  presence  of  others.  Her  appearance  now  re- 
called instantly  the  day  of  the  fishing  trip — a  soft 
and  pleasant  memory,  which  during  his  year's  exile 
had  at  times  been  truly  delicious  to  him. 

The  women  thought  of  it  too,  now,  and  talked  of 
it,  at  Seth  rather  than  to  him,  and  with  a  playful 
spirit  of  badinage.  As  of  old,  Isabel  did  most  of 
the  talking.  Annie  had  become  quite  a  woman, 
Seth  said  to  himself,  as  she  took  off  her  hat,  tidied 
her  hair  before  the  glass,  and  laughingly  joined  in 
the  conversation.  She  talked  very  well,  too,  but 


152  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

she  seemed  always  to  think  over  her  words,  and 
there  appeared  to  be  in  her  manner  toward  him  a 
certain  something,  intangible,  indefinite,  which  sug- 
gested constraint.  He  could  feel,  though  he  could 
not  explain,  it. 

During  his  stay  in  Tecumseh  he  had  seen  almost 
nothing  of  the  other  sex.  There  were  often  some 
young  women  at  the  boarding-house,  but  he  had  not 
got  beyond  a  speaking  acquaintance  at  the  table 
with  any  of  them,  in  the  few  instances  where  his 
shyness  had  permitted  even  that.  His  year  in  a 
city  had  improved  him  in  many  ways.  He  could 
wear  good  clothes  now  without  awkwardness  ;  he 
spoke  readily  among  men,  and  with  excellent  choice 
of  language ;  he  knew  how  to  joke  without  leading 
the  laughter  himself.  But  he  had  had  no  chance  to 
overcome  by  usage  his  diffidence  in  female  company, 
and  he  had  not  been  quite  at  ease  in  his  mind  since 
Annie  came  in.  She  seemed  to  make  a  stranger  of 
him. 

He  thought  upon  this,  and  felt  piqued  at  it.  He 
wondered,  too  if  he  was  not  sitting  clumsily  in  his 
chair — if  it  was  not  impolite  in  him  to  cross  his  legs. 
Gradually,  however,  he  grew  out  of  his  reserve.  It 
dawned  upon  him  that  Annie  was  timorous,  nervous, 
about  the  impression  she  was  making  on  him,  and 
that  Isabel  listened  with  real  respect  and  deference 
to  what  he  had  to  say.  He  grew  bold,  and  took  the 
lead  of  the  conversation,  and  the  two  women  fol- 
lowed meekly.  It  was  a  delightful  sensation.  He 
said  to  himself :  "  It  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world, 


Back  on  the  Farm.  153 

once  you  make  the  plunge.  I  could  talk  with 
women  now  in  the  finest  drawing  room  in  the  land." 
He  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and  told  them  some  anec- 
dotes about  Mr.  Samboye,  from  which  somehow 
they  gathered  the  notion  that  he  was  at  the  best  co- 
ordinate in  rank  with  Seth.  They  were  more  than 
ever  proud  of  their  relative,  who  had  so  rapidly 
conquered  a  high  and  commanding  position  for  him- 
self in  that  mystic,  awesome  sphere  of  journalism. 
Seth  expanded  and  basked  in  this  admiration. 

He  had  heretofore  found  the  evenings  on  the  farm 
stupidly  tedious.  To  sit  at  the  big  table  till  bed 
time,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  single  kerosene  lamp, 
or  exchanging  dry  monosyllables  with  Albert,  of- 
fered a  dismal  contrast  to  the  cheerful  street  lamps, 
the  bright  store-windows,  the  noise  and  gaiety  and 
life  of  the  places  of  evening  resort  in  Tecumseh. 
But  this  evening  revealed  a  far  more  attractive  side 
of  country  life  than  he  had  known  before.  Annie 
stayed  after  tea,  and  the  three  played  dominoes. 
Albert  seemed  somewhat  out  of  sorts,  but  they  did 
not  mind  his  silence  in  the  least.  They  chatted 
gaily  over  their  games,  and  time  flew  so  merrily  and 
swiftly,  that  Seth  was  surprised  when  Annie  said 
she  must  leave,  and  he  discovered  that  it  was  a 
quarter  to  ten. 

"  How  pleasantly  the  evening  has  passed,"  Isabel 
said,  and  smiled  at  him,  and  Annie  answered,  "  Hasn't 
it !  I  don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed  myself  so 
much —  "  and  she,  too,  smiled  at  him. 

The  old  walk  over  the  fields,  down  the  poplar 


154  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

lane,  to  see  Annie  home — how  like  the  old  times  it 
seemed  !  And  yet  how  far  away  they  were  !  Some- 
times in  these  bye-gone  walks,  as  they  came  up  now 
in  Seth's  memory,  he  and  Annie  had  been  almost 
like  lovers — not  indeed,  in  words,  but  in  that  mag- 
netic language  which  the  moon  inspires.  It  occurred 
to  neither  of  them  to  saunter  slowly,  now.  They 
walked  straight  ahead,  and  there  were  no  "  flashes 
of  eloquent  silence."  Their  conversation  was  all  of 
Isabel. 

"  Not  as  happy  as  she  expected  !  "  said  Annie,  re- 
peating a  question  of  Seth's  ;  "  you  can't  guess  how 
wretched  she  is  !  Sometimes  it's  all  she  can  do  to 
keep  from  breaking  down.  I  am  literally  the  only 
person  she  has  to  talk  to,  that  she  cares  about,  week 
in  and  week  out.  Albert  is  away  a  great  deal.  I 
don't  think  he  is  much  company  when  he  is  home. 
She  did  try,  when  she  first  came,  to  make  some 
acquaintances  round  about,  among  the  well-to-do 
farmers'  wives.  But  she  couldn't  bear  them,  and 
they  said  she  was  stuck  up,  and  so  that  came  to 
nothing.  She  doesn't  get  on  at  all  with  Aunt  Sa- 
brina,  either.  Poor  girl !  she  is  so  blue  at  times  that 
my  heart  aches  for  her.  Of  course  she  wouldn't  let 
you  see  it.  Besides  she  has  been  ever  so  much  more 
cheerful  since  you  came.  I  do  hope  you  will  stay  as 
long  as  you  can — just  for  her  sake." 

She  added  this  explanation  with  what  sounded  to 
Seth's  ear  like  gratuitous  emphasis.  The  disposi- 
tion rose  swiftly  within  him  to  resent  this. 

"You  are  very  careful,"  he  said,  "  to  have  me  un- 


Back  on  the  Farm.  155 

derstand  that  it's  for  her  sake  you  want  me  to  stay." 
Then  he  felt,  even  while  the  sound  of  his  voice  was 
in  the  air,  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself. 

His  cousin  did  not  accept  the  individual  challenge. 

"  No,  of  course  we  are  all  glad  to  see  you.  You 
know  we  are.  But  she  specially  needs  company  ;  it's 
a  mercy  to  her  to  have  somebody  to  brighten  her  up 
a  little.  Really,  I  get  anxious  about  her  at  times. 
I  try  to  run  over  as  much  as  I  can,  but  then  I  have 
grandmother  to  tend,  you  know." 

"  How  is  the  old  lady,  by  the  way  ?  And  oh — 
tell  me,  Annie,  what  it  was  that  all  at  once  set  her 
against  me  so.  You  remember — the  day  before  we 
went  fishing,  and  Isabel  saved  my  life." 

The  answer  did  not  come  immediately.  In  the 
dim  starlight  Seth  could  see  that  his  cousin's  face 
was  turned  away,  and  he  guessed  rather  than  saw 
that  she  was  agitated. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said  at  last,  nervously,  "  why 
grandmother — or,  no,  I  will  not  tell  you  !  You  have 
no  right  to  ask.  Don't  come  any  further,  I  am  near 
enough  to  the  house  now.  Good  night." 

She  had  hurried  away  from  him.  He  watched 
her  disappear  in  the  darkness,  then  turned  and 
walked  meditatively  home. 

He  was  not  so  sure  as  he  had  been  that  it  was 
easy  to  understand  women. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.   RICHARD   ANSDELL. 

IT  was  no  light  task  to  spend  a  vacation  content- 
edly on  the  farm.  There  were  thousands  of  city 
people  who  did  it,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  but  Seth 
found  it  difficult  to  understand  how  they  contrived 
to  occupy  themselves.  What  work  on  a  farm  meant, 
he  knew  very  well ;  but  the  trick  of  idling  in  the 
country  was  beyond  him.  It  was  too  hot,  in  these 
July  days,  for  driving  much,  and  besides,  Albert 
rarely  invited  him  into  the  buggy  when  the  grays 
were  brought  around  to  the  step.  The  two  brothers 
saw  little  of  each  other,  in  fact.  It  was  not  precisely 
a  coolness,  but  Albert  seemed  to  have  other  things 
on  his  mind  beside  fraternal  entertainment.  The 
old  pastime  of  fishing,  too,  failed  him.  In  the  reno- 
vation of  the  house  his  fine  pole  and  tackle  had 
somehow  disappeared,  and  he  had  no  money  where- 
with to  replace  them.  He  had  entered  upon  his 
vacation  unexpectedly,  at  a  time  when  he  happened 
to  be  particularly  short  of  cash — and  there  was  some- 
thing in  Albert's  manner  and  tone  which  rendered 
it  impossible  to  apply  to  him,  even  if  pride  had  not 
forbidden  it. 

There  was,  it   is  true,  the  increasing  delight   of 


Mr.  Richard  Ansdell.  157 

being  in  Isabel's  company,  but  alongside  this  delight 
grew  a  doubt — a  doubt  which  the  young  man  shrank 
from  recognizing  and  debating,  but  which  forced  its 
presence  upon  his  mind,  none  the  less — a  doubt 
whether  it  was  the  part  of  wisdom  to  encourage  too 
much  of  a  friendship  with  his  sister-in-law.  This 
friendship  had  already  reached  a  stage  where  Aunt 
Sabrina  sniffed  at  its  existence,  and  she  hinted  dimly 
to  Seth  of  the  perils  which  lurked  in  the  lures  of  a 
citified  siren,  with  an  expression  of  face  and  a  point- 
edness  of  emphasis  which  clearly  had  a  domestic  ap- 
plication. There  was  nothing  in  this,  of  course,  but 
the  insensate  meddlesomeness  of  a  disagreeable  old 
maid,  Seth  said  to  himself,  but  still  it  annoyed 
him. 

More  serious,  though,  was  his  suspicion — lying 
dormant  sometimes  for  days,  then  suddenly  awak- 
ened by  a  curt  word  or  an  intent  glance — that  Al- 
bert disliked  to  see  him  so  much  with  Isabel.  Often 
this  rendered  him  extremely  nervous,  for  Isabel  had 
no  discretion  (so  the  young  man  put  it  to  himself) 
and  displayed  her  pleasure  in  his  society,  her  liking 
for  him,  quite  as  freely  in  her  husband's  presence  as 
when  they  were  alone.  There  was  nothing  in  this, 
either,  only  that  it  made  him  uneasy.  Hence  it 
came  about  that,  just  when  one  set  of  inclinations 
most  urgently  prompted  him  to  stay  about  the 
house,  another  set  often  prevailed  upon  him  to 
absent  himself.  On  these  occasions  he  generally 
walked  over  to  Thessaly,  and  chatted  with  John. 

"  John  and  I  have  so  much  to  talk  about,  you 


158  Set/is  Brothers    Wife. 

know,  being  both  newspaper  men,"  he  used  to  say, 
with  a  feeling  that  he  owed  an  explanation  of  some 
sort  to  Isabel.  "And  then  I  can  see  the  daily  papers 
there.  That  gets  to  be  a  necessity  with  a  journalist 
— as  much  so  as  his  breakfast." 

"  I  scarcely  dare  to  read  a  paper  now,"  Isabel  once 
replied.  "  It  drives  me  nearly  mad  with  longing  to 
get  back  among  people  again.  I  only  read  heavy 
things,  classic  poetry  and  history — and  then,  thank 
Heaven,  there  is  this  embroidery." 

It  was  at  John's,  or  rather  on  the  way  there,  that 
Seth  met  one  day  a  man  of  whom  he  was  in  after 
life  accustomed  to  say,  "  He  altered  the  whole  bent 
of  my  career."  Perhaps  this  was  an  exaggerated 
estimate  of  the  service  Richard  Ansdell  really  ren- 
dered Seth  ;  but  it  is  so  difficult,  looking  back,  to 
truly  define  the  influence  upon  our  fortunes  or  minds 
by  any  isolated  event  or  acquaintance,  and  more- 
over, gratitude  is  so  wholesome  and  sweet  a  thing 
to  contemplate,  and  the  race  devotes  so  much  en- 
ergy to  civilizing  it  out  of  young  breasts,  that  I  have 
not  the  heart  to  insist  upon  any  qualification  of 
Seth's  judgment. 

Mr.  Ansdell  at  this  time  was  nearly  forty  years  of 
age,  and  looked  to  be  under  thirty.  He  was  small, 
thin-faced,  clean-shaven,  dark  of  skin  and  hair,  with 
full,  clear  eyes,  that  by  their  calmness  of  expression 
curiously  modified  the  idea  of  nervousness  which  his 
actions  and  mode  of  speech  gave  forth.  He  was 
spending  his  fortnight's  vacation  in  the  vicinity,  and 
he  was  strolling  with  his  friend  the  school-teacher, 


Mr.  Richard  Ansdell.  159 

Reuben  Tracy,  toward  the  village  when  Seth  over- 
took them.  Seth  and  Reuben  had  been  very  inti- 
mate in  the  old  farm  days — and  here  was  a  young 
man  to  the  latent  influence  of  whose  sobriety  of 
mind  and  cleanliness  of  tastes  he  never  fully  realized 
his  obligation — but  since  his  return  they  had  not 
met.  After  greetings  had  been  exchanged,  they 
walked  together  to  the  village,  and  to  the  Banner  of 
Liberty  office. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  the  week,  and  publication 
day  was  far  enough  off  to  enable  John  to  devote  all 
his  time  to  his  visitors.  There  was  an  hour  or  more 
of  talk — on  politics,  county  affairs,  the  news  in  the 
city  papers,  the  humors  and  trials  of  conducting  a 
rural  newspaper,  and  so  forth.  When  they  rose  to 
go,  John  put  on  his  hat,  and  said  he  would  "walk  a 
ways  "  with  them.  On  the  street  he  held  Seth  back 
with  a  whispered  "  Let  us  keep  behind  a  bit,  I  want 
to  talk  to  you."  Then  he  added,  when  the  others 
were  out  of  hearing: 

"  I  have  got  some  personal  things  to  say,  later  on. 
But — first  of  all — has  Albert  said  anything  since  to 
you  about  the  farm  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Wei],  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over,  trying  to 
see  where  the  crookedness  comes  in — for  I  feel  it  in 
my  bones  that  there  is  something  crooked.  But  I 
am  not  lawyer  enough  to  get  on  to  it.  I've  had  a 
notion  of  putting  the  whole  case  to  Ansdell,  who's  a 
mighty  bright  lawyer,  but  then  again,  it  seems  to  be 
a  sort  of  family  thing  that  we  ought  to  keep  to  our- 


160  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

selves.  What  do  you  think? — for  after  all,  it  is 
mostly  your  affair." 

"  I  can't  see  that  Albert  isn't  playing  fair.  It 
must  be  pretty  nearly  as  he  says — that  he  has  put 
as  much  money  in  the  farm  as  it  was  worth  when  he 
took  it.  It's  true  that  father's  will  leaves  it  to  him 
outright — and  that  wasn't  quite  as  Albert  gave  us  to 
understand  it  should  be — but  Albert  pledges  us  that 
our  rights  in  it  shall  be  respected,  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  that  is  better  than  an  acknowledged  interest  in 
a  bankrupt  farm  would  be,  which  we  hadn't  the 
capital  to  work,  and  which  was  worthless  without 
it." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right."  John  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  began  again  in  a  graver  tone :  "  There's 
something  else.  How  are  you  getting  on  on  the 
Chronicle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well  enough  ;  I  get  through  my  work  with- 
out anybody's  finding  fault.  I  suppose  that  is  the 
best  test.  A  fellow  can't  do  any  more." 

"  That  is  where  you  are  wrong.  '  A  fellow  '  can 
do  a  great  deal  more.  And  when  you  went  there  I, 
for  one,  expected  you  were  going  to  do  a  deuced 
sight  more.  You  have  been  there  now — let's  see — 
thirteen  months.  You  are  doing  what  you  did  when 
you  went  there — sawing  up  miscellany,  boiling  down 
news  notes,  grinding  out  a  lot  of  departments  which 
the  office  boy  might  do,  if  his  own  work  weren't 
more  important.  In  a  word  you've  just  gone  on  to 
the  threshold,  and  you've  screwed  yourself  down  to 
the  floor  there — and  from  all  I  hear  you  are  likely 


Mr.  Richard  Ansdell.  161 

to  stay  there  all  your  life,  while  other  fellows  climb 
over  your  head  to  get  into  the  real  places." 

"From  all  you  hear?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that — who's  been  telling  you  about  me  ?  " 

"  That  you  shan't  know,  my  boy.  It  is  enough 
that  I  have  heard.  You  haven't  fulfilled  your  prom- 
ise. I  thought  you  had  the  makings  of  a  big  man 
in  you ;  I  believed  that  all  you  needed  was  the 
chance,  and  you  would  rise.  You  were  given  the 
chance — put  right  in  on  the  ground  floor,  and  there 
you  are,  just  where  you  were  put.  You  haven't 
risen  worth  a  cent." 

"  What  do  you  expect  a  fellow  to  do  ?  Get  to  be 
editor-in-chief  in  thirteen  months  ?  What  could  I 
do  that  I  haven't  done  ?  There  have  been  no  vacan- 
cies, so  no  one  has  climbed  over  my  head.  I've 
done  the  work  I  was  set  to  do — and  done  it  well, 
too.  What  more  can  you  ask?" 

Seth  spoke  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  for  this  attack 
seemed  as  unjust  as  it  had  been  unexpected. 

John  replied,  "  Now  keep  cool,  youngster !  No- 
body expected  you  to  get  to  be  editor-in-chief  in 
thirteen  months,  so  don't  talk  nonsense.  And  I  am 
not  blaming  you  for  not  getting  promotion,  when 
there  have  been  no  vacancies.  What  I  do  mean,  if 
you  want  to  know,  is  that  you  have  failed  to  make  a 
good  impression.  You  are  not  in  the  line  of  promo- 
tion. Workman  doesn't  say  to  himself  when  he 
thinks  of  you  '  There's  a  smart,  steady,  capable 
young  man  on  whom  we  can  count,  who's  able  to  go 
as  high  as  we  are  able  to  put  him.'  No !  instead  of 


1 62  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

that  he  says — but  no,  never  mind.  I  don't  want  to 
hurt  your  feelings." 

"  Oh,  you  are  mighty  considerate,  all  at  once,"  re- 
torted Seth,  angrily.  "Go  on!  Say  what  you 
were  going  to  say !  What  is  it  that  Workman 
says,  since  you've  been  spying  on  me  behind  my 
back?" 

"  Now  you  are  talking  like  a  fool,"  said  the  elder 
brother,  keeping  his  temper.  "  I  haven't  been  spy- 
ing on  you.  I  have  only  been  commenting  on  facts 
which  have  come  to  my  knowledge  without  seeking 
and  which  were  brought  to  me  by  one  who  has  your 
interests  at  heart.  I  have  only  been  talking  to  you 
as  I  ought  to  talk,  with  the  sole  idea  of  benefiting 
you,  helping  you.  If  you  don't  want  to  hear  me, 
why  I  can  shut  up." 

Seth  did  not  reply  for  a  minute  or  so ;  then  he 
growled  moodily :  "  Go  ahead  !  Let's  hear  it  all." 

"  The  '  all '  can  be  said  in  a  few  words.  You  have 
been  wasting  your  time.  I  grant  that  you  have 
done  your  work  well  enough  to  escape  blame — but 
what  credit  is  there  in  that  ?  a  million  mechanics  do 
that  every  day.  Instead  of  improving  yourself,  ele- 
vating and  polishing  yourself,  by  good  reading,  by 
studying  the  art  of  writing,  above  all  by  choosing 
your  associates  among  men  who  are  your  superiors, 
and  from  whom  you  can  learn,  you  have  settled 
down  in  a  Dutch  beer  saloon,  making  associates  out 
of  the  commonest  people  in  town,  and  having  for 
your  particular  chum  that  rattle-headed  loafer  Tom 
Watts.  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Workman  doesn't 


Mr.  Richard  AnsdelL  163 

know  this  ?  Do  you  suppose  he  likes  it,  or  that  it 
encourages  him  to  hope  for  your  future?" 

Seth  was  silent  longer  than  ever,  this  time.  When 
he  spoke  it  was  to  utter  something  which  he  in- 
stantly regretted :  "  I  haven't  been  able  to  gather 
from  your  old  friends  that  you  were  altogether  a 
bigot,  yourself,  on  the  subject  of  beer,  when  you 
were  my  age." 

Fortunately  John  did  not  get  angry  ;  Seth  hon- 
estly admired  and  envied  his  elder  brother's  good 
temper  as  he  heard  the  reply  : 

"  That's  neither  here  nor  there.  Perhaps  I  did  a 
good  many  things  that  I  want  you  to  avoid.  Be- 
sides, there  was  nothing  in  me.  I  am  good  enough 
as  far  as  I  go,  but  if  I  had  worked  on  a  daily  paper 
till  my  teeth  all  fell  out,  I  should  never  have  got 
any  higher  than  I  was.  With  you  it  is  different ; 
you  can  go  up  to  the  head  of  the  class  if  you  are  a 
mind  to.  But  the  beer  saloon  isn't  the  way — and 
Tom  Watts  isn't  the  guide." 

"  He  is  the  only  friend  I  have  got.  What  was  I 
to  do  ?  It  is  easy  enough  to  talk,  John,  about  my 
knowing  good  people  and  all  that,  but  how  ?  That 
is  the  question  ?  It  isn't  fair  to  blame  me  as  you 
do.  All  the  men  like  Workman  and  Samboye — I 
suppose  you  mean  them — hold  themselves  miles 
above  me.  Do  you  suppose  I've  ever  seen  the  in- 
side of  their  houses  or  of  their  club  ?  Not  I !  You 
dump  a  young  countryman  in  a  strange  city,  new  at 
his  work,  without  knowing  a  solitary  soul — and  then 
you  complain  because  he  gets  lonesome,  and  makes 


1 64  Setlis  Brothers   Wife. 

friends  with  the  only  people  who  show  any  disposi- 
tion to  be  friendly  with  him.  Do  you  call  that  fair 
play  ?  " 

"  Well,  there's  something  in  that,"  John  replied, 
meditatively.  "Some  time  I'm  going  to  write  a 
leader  on  the  organized  indifference  of  modern  city 
society  to  what  becomes  of  young  men  who  deserve 
its  good  offices  and  drift  into  beer  saloons  because 
they  are  not  forthcoming.  It  would  make  the  Ban- 
ner immensely  solid  with  orthodox  people." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  wanted  me  to  go  to  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  I  suppose?" 

"  No-o,  I  don't  know  that  I  would.  I  don't  know, 
after  all,  that  you  could  have  done  much  differently. 
But  you've  done  enough  of  it,  do  you  understand  ? 
You  have  served  your  time  ;  you  have  taken  your 
diploma.  It  is  time  now  to  quit.  And  I  can  put 
you  on  to  a  man,  now,  who  will  help  you  on  the 
other  tack.  Do  you  see  Ansdell,  ahead  there  ?  " 

"  Yes  ; — is  he  the  man  who  told  you  about  Work- 
man and  me  ?  " 

John  ignored  the  question.  "Ansdell  is  one  of 
the  cleverest  men  going ;  he's  head  and  shoulders 
over  anybody  else  there  is  in  Tecumseh,  or  in  this 
part  of  the  State.  For  you  to  know  him  will  be  a 
college  education  in  itself.  He  is  more  than  a  big 
lawyer,  he  is  a  student  and  thinker;  more  than  that, 
he  is  a  reformer ;  best  of  all,  he  is  a  man  of  the 
world,  who  has  sown  more  wild  oats  than  would  fill 
Albert's  new  bins,  and  there's  not  an  atom  of  non- 
sense about  him.  He  knows  about  you.  We've 


Mr.  Richard  AnsdelL  165 

talked  you  over  together.  He  understands  my  idea 
of  what  you  ought  to  be,  and  he  can  help  you  more 
than  any  other  man  alive — and  what  is  more  he 
will." 

"  It  was  he  who  told  you  about  me,  wasn't  it  ?  " 
Seth  persisted. 

"  If  you  will  know,  it  was  and  it  wasn't.  All  he 
said  was  that  he  had  heard  Workman  speak  of  you  ; 
that  he  had  got  the  idea  from  his  tone  that  you 
were  not  making  the  most  of  your  opportunities  ; 
that  he  thought  this  was  a  great  pity ;  and  that  if 
he  could  be  of  any  use  to  you  he  would  be  very 
glad.  That  is  all — and  not  even  your  sulkiness  can 
make  anything  but  kindness  out  of  it." 

This  practically  ended  the  dialogue,  for  the  others 
had  stopped  to  let  the  brothers  come  up,  and  John 
shortly  after  left  the  party. 

The  three  men  had  a  long  stroll  back  to  the  hill- 
side road,  with  a  still  longer  lounge  on  the  grass  un- 
der the  elms  by  the  bridge.  Seth  watched  and  lis- 
tened to  this  swarthy,  boyish-looking  mentor  who 
had,  so  to  speak,  thrust  himself  upon  him,  very 
closely,  as  was  natural.  Did  he  like  him  ?  It  was 
hard,  he  found,  to  determine.  Mr.  Ansdell  was 
extremely  opinionated.  He  seemed  to  have  convic- 
tions on  almost  every  subject,  and  he  clung  to  them, 
defended  them,  expanded  them,  with  almost  tearful 
earnestness.  His  voice  was  as  strong  and  powerful 
as  his  figure  was  diminutive  ;  he  talked  now  chiefly 
about  the  Tariff,  which  he  denounced  with  a  vibrat- 
ing intensity  of  feeling.  Seth  knew  nothing  about 


1 66  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

the  Tariff,  or  next  to  nothing,  but  he  admired  what 
Ansdell  said,  mainly  because  it  was  said  so  well. 
But  he  grew  quite  enthusiastic  in  his  endorsement 
when  he  heard  his  Editor,  Mr.  Samboye,  used  as  a 
typical  illustration  of  the  dishonesty  with  which 
public  men  treated  that  question.  After  that  he 
felt  that  it  would  be  easy  to  make  friends  with  Mr. 
Ansdell. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

DEAR  ISABEL. 

IT  was  the  last  day  but  one  of  Seth's  vacation  on 
the  farm.  He  was  not  sorry,  although  the  last 
week,  by  comparison,  had  been  pleasant  enough. 
He  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  Mr.  Ansdell,  who  inter- 
ested him  extremely,  and  who  had  come  for  him 
three  or  four  times  for  long  walks  in  the  fields.  He 
sat  now  in  the  living  room  near  Isabel,  dividing  his 
attention  between  her  and  his  book — one  of  Albert's 
innumerable  novels.  The  desultory  conversation 
mixed  itself  up  with  the  unfolding  work  of  fiction 
so  persistently  that  he  presently  gave  over  the 
attempt  to  read,  and  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  his 
sister-in-law.  It  was  raining  outside,  and  wet 
weather  always  made  her  want  to  talk.  She  said : 

"  Tell  me,  Seth,  if  you  have  noticed  any  change 
in  Alvira." 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  I  have.  In  fact,  she  seems 
to  me  the  one  person  about  the  place  who  has  not 
altered  a  bit." 

"  See  what  eyes  men  have !  Why,  she  has  grown 
ages  older.  She  goes  about  now  muttering  to  her- 
self like  an  old,  old  woman.  And  the  way  she  looks 
at  one,  sometimes,  it  is  enough  to  give  one  the 


1 68  Seth's  Brother's   Wife. 

chills.  I  tell  Albert  often  that  I  am  almost  afraid 
to  have  her  in  the  house." 

Seth  chuckled  audibly,  in  good-natured  derision. 
"  What  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole  hill !  Why  Alvira 
has  glared  at  people  that  way,  with  her  little  black- 
bead  eyes,  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  She  doesn't  mean 
anything  by  it, — not  the  least  in  the  world.  The 
trouble  is,  Isabel,  that  you  let  your  imagination  run 
away  with  you.  You  are  desperately  lonesome 
here,  and  you  amuse  yourself  by  conjuring  up  all 
sorts  of  tragic  things.  You  will  have  Aunt  Sabrina 
a  professional  witch  next  thing  you  know,  and  Mil- 
ton a  mystic  conspirator,  and  this  plain  old  clap- 
boarded  farm  house  a  castle  of  enchantment." 

He  had  never  before  assumed  even  this  jocose  air 
of  superiority  over  his  blond  sister-in-law,  and  he 
closed  his  sentence  in  some  little  trepidation  lest 
she  should  resent  it.  But  no,  she  received  it  with 
meekness,  and  only  protested  mildly  against  the 
assumption  underneath. 

"No,  I  am  sure  there  is  something  in  it.  She  is 
brooding  about  Milton.  Not  in  any  sentimental 
way,  you  know,  but  it  used  to  be  understood,  I 
think,  that  they  were  to  marry,  and  now  he  carries 
himself  way  above  her.  WThy,  I  can  remember,  as 
long  ago  as  when  I  visited  here  that  summer,  when 
we  were  all  boys  and  girls  and  cousins  together,  I 
heard  your  mother  say  they  would  make  a  match  of 
it  some  time.  But  now  he  avoids  the  kitchen  and 
0  her.  It  sounds  ridiculous,  doesn't  it,  for  me  to  be 
speculating  in  this  way  about  the  love  affairs  of  the 


Dear  Isabel.  169 

servants.  But  you  are  driven  to  it  here.  You  have 
no  idea  how  grateful  one  gets  to  be,  here  in  the 
country,  for  the  smallest  item  of  human  gossip." 

Seth  was  still  considering  whether  it  was  possible 
for  him,  in  careful  language,  to  suggest  his  own — or 
rather  the  Lawton  girl's — view  of  the  Milton-Alvira 
affair,  when  Isabel  spoke  again  : 

"  Speaking  of  gossip,  there  is  something  I  have 
been  tempted  half  a  dozen  times  to  mention  to  you 
— something  I  heard  almost  every  day  during  the 
little  time  that  the  women  round-about  were  calling 
on  me.  You  will  guess  what  I  mean — the  talk 
about  you  and  Annie." 

Seth  did  not  immediately  answer,  and  she  con- 
tinued : 

"  Of  course,  you  know,  Seth,  that  I  wouldn't  speak 
of  it  if  I  thought  it  would  be  distasteful  to  you.  But 
I  know  it  used  to  be  the  idea  that  you  two  were 
marked  for  each  other.  I  have  heard  ever  so  much 
about  it  since  we  have  lived  here.  And  yet  you 
don't  seem  to  me  to  be  at  all  like  lovers — hardly 
even  like  affectionate  cousins.  I  think  she  has 
rather  avoided  the  house  since  you  have  been  here, 
although  that,  of  course,  may  be  only  imagination. 
She  is  such  a  dear,  good  girl,  and  I  am  so  fond  of 
her,  but  still  I  can  hardly  imagine  her  as  your 
wife.  You  don't  mind  my  speaking  about  it,  do 
you  ?  " 

Seth  was  still  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  or,  better,  how 
to  say  it.  While  she  had  been  speaking  the  contrast 
between  the  two  young  women,  which  had  been 


170  Scttis  Brothers   Wife. 

slumbering  in  his  mind  for  a  year,  had  risen  vividly 
before  him.  The  smile,  half-deprecating,  half-invit- 
ing, with  which  she  looked  this  last  question  at  him, 
as  she  laid  the  everlasting  embroidery  down,  and 
leaned  slightly  forward  for  a  reply,  gave  the  final 
touch  to  his  vanishing  doubts. 

"  Mind  your  speaking  about  it?  No,  no,  Isabel." 
He  scarcely  knew  his  own  voice,  it  was  so  full  of 
cooing  softness.  "  I  am  glad  you  did — for — for 
who  has  a  better  right  ?  No,  there  is  nothing  in  the 
gossip.  Our  people — my  mother,  her  grandmother 
— had  it  in  mind  once,  I  believe,  but  Annie  and  I 
have  never  so  much  as  hinted  at  it  between  our- 
selves. Ever  since  mother's  death  old  Mrs.  Warren 
has,  however,  taken  a  deep  dislike  to  me — you  re- 
member how  she  forbade  Annie  to  go  with  us  on 
that  fishing  trip — but  even  without  that — 

"Ah,  I  shan't  forget  that  fishing  trip,"  Isabel 
whispered,  still  with  the  tender  smile. 

"  Nor  I,  you  may  be  very  sure."  The  caressing 
tone  of  his  voice  sounded  natural  to  him  now.  "  As 
I  was  saying,  even  if  we  two  young  people  had  once 
thought  of  the  thing,  I  fancy  it  would  be  different 
now,  anyway.  Then,  I  was  going  to  be  a  farmer. 
4  Now,  of  course,  that  is  all  changed.  My  career  is 
in  the'city,  in  circles  where  Anflie  would  not  be  at 
home.  She  is  a  dear,  good  girl,  as  you  say  :  nobody 
knows  that  better  than  I  do.  But  you  must  admit 
she  is — what  shall  I  say  ? — rural.  Now  that  I  have 
got  my  foot  on  the  ladder,  there  is  no  telling  how 
far  I  may  not  climb.  It  would  be  simply  suicide  to 


Dear  Isabel. 


171 


marry  a  wife  whom  I  perhaps  would  have  to  carry 
up  with  me,  a  dead  weight." 

The  youngster  was  not  in  the  least  conscious  of  o 
the  vicious  nonsense  he  was  talking.  In  the  mag- 
netic penumbra  of  Isabel's  presence  his  words 
seemed  surcharged  with  wisdom  and  good  feeling. 
And  the  young  woman,  too,  who  was  four  years  his 
senior,  and  who  should  have  known  better,  never 
suspected  the  ridiculous  aspect  of  the  sentiments 
to  the  expression  of  which  she  listened  with  such 
sweet-faced  sympathy.  We  are  such  fools  upon 
occasion. 

"  Besides,  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  think 
of  marriage  at  all,  for  a  long  time  to  come — at  least 
not  until  I  have  made  my  way  up  in  my  profession 
a  bit.  When  the  time  does  come,  it  will  be  because 
I  have  found  my  ideal — for  I  have  an  ideal,  you 
know,  a  very  exalted  one." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  blushing  as  he  did  so,  to 
discover  if  she  had  caught  the  purport  of  his  words ; 
then  he  addressed  himself,  with  an  absence  of  verbal 
awkwardness  at  which  he  was  himself  astonished,  to 
making  it  more  clear. 

"  I  mean,  Isabel,  that  my  brother  has  won  a  prize 
which  would  make  anything  less  valuable  seem  alto- 
gether worthless  in  my  eyes.  If  there  is  not  another 
woman  in  the  world  like  my  brother  Albert's  wife, 
then  I  shall  never  marry." 

"  Brother  Albert's  wife  "  looked  up  at  the  speaker 
for  an  instant — a  glance  which  seemed  to  him  to  be 
made  of  smiles,  sadness,  delight,  reproach  and  many 


1 72  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

other  unutterable  things  ;  then  she  bent  over  her 
work,  and  he  fancied  that  the  pretty  fingers  trembled 
a  little  between  the  stitches.  There  was  a  minute 
of  silence,  which  seemed  a  half  hour.  At  last  she 
spoke : 

"  Does  your  brother  impress  you  as  being  a  par- 
ticularly happy  man  ?  I  won't  ask  a  similar  question 
about  his  wife." 

Seth  found  it  necessary  to  stand  up,  to  do  this 
subject  justice.  "  No  !  "  he  answered.  "  He  doesn't 
deserve  such  a  wife.  But  because  one  man  is  incap- 
able of  appreciating  a  treasure  which  he  has  won,  it's 
no  reason  why  another  man  shouldn't — shouldn't 
say  to  himself  '  I  will  either  marry  that  kind  of 
woman  or  I'll  marry  none.'  Now,  is  it,  Isabel?" 

"  Perhaps  this  wife  is  not  altogether  the  treasure 
you  think  she  is,"  the  young  woman  answered,  with 
the  indirection  of  her  sex. 

Seth  found  words  entirely  inadequate  to  express 
his  dissent.  He  could  only  smile  at  her,  as  if  the 
doubt  were  too  preposterous  to  be  even  suggested, 
and  walk  up  and  down  in  front  of  her. 

Still  intent  upon  her  work,  and  with  her  head  in- 
clined so  that  he  saw  only  a  softened  angle  of  face 
beneath  the  crown  of  glowing  light -hued  hair,  she 
made  answer,  speaking  more  slowly  than  was  usual 
with  her,  and  with  frequent  pauses : 

"  I  don't  think  you  know  all  my  story,  though  it 
is  a  part  of  your  family's  history  on  both  sides.  You 
remember  my  father — a  sporting,  horse-racing  man 
of  the  world,  and  you  know  that  my  mother  died 


Dear  Isabel.  173 

when  I  was  a  baby.  You  knew  me  here,  one  sum- 
mer, as  a  visiting  cousin,  and  we  played  and  quar- 
relled as  children  do.  Now  you  know  me  again  as 
your  brother's  wife — but  that  is  all.  You  know 
nothing  of  the  rest — of  how  my  father,  proud  about 
me  as  he  was  common  in  other  things,  kept  me 
mewed  up  among  governesses  and  housekeepers  in 
one  part  of  the  house,  while  his  flash  companions 
rioted  in  another  part ;  of  how  my  wretched,  chafing 
girlhood  was  spent  among  servants  and  tutors,  with 
not  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  the  world  outside,  like 
any  Turkish  girl ;  of  how,  when  your  brother,  be- 
cause he  was  a  cousin,  did  become  the  one  friend  of 
my  father's  who  might  be  invited  into  the  drawing 
room,  and  be  introduced  to  me,  and  took  a  fancy 
that  he  would  like  to  marry  me,  I  welcomed  even 
such  a  chance  for  emancipation,  and  almost  cried  for 
joy ;  and  of  how  I  woke  up  afterward — no,  this  is 
what  you  do  not  know."  There  was  a  considerable 
pause  here.  "  And  I  do  not  know  why  I  tell  this 
to  you  now,  except  that  I  want  you  to  understand." 

"  I  do  understand,  Isabel." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  did  not  understand  at  all, 
but  he  thought  he  did,  which,  for  present  purposes, 
came  to  the  same  thing. 

"  And  you  can  realize,"  she  went  on,  "  how  I  feel 
at  the  thought  of  staying  here  the  rest  of  my  life — 
or,  even  if  we  go  elsewhere — of  having  my  life  map- 
ped out  for  me  without  any  regard  to  my  wishes  and 
aspirations,  while  you  are  just  pluming  your  wings 
for  soaring,  and  can  fly  as  high  as  you  like  with  no 


174  Set /is  Brothers    Wife. 

one  to  gainsay  you.  Oh,  what  it  must  be  to  be  a 
man  ! "  She  was  looking  up  at  him  now,  with  en- 
thusiasm supplanting  the  repining  in  her  eyes.  "And 
you  love  your  work,  so,  too  !  You  are  so  clever  and 
capable  !  You  can  be  anything  you  like  in  your 
profession — and'  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  ever 
be  anything  that  I  want  to  be." 

A  month  ago,  when  he  first  came  to  the  farm, 
this  calm  assumption  of  his  ability  to  carve  whatever 
part  he  desired  out  of  the  journalistic  cake  would 
have  fallen  upon  Seth  like  cruel  and  calculated  sar- 
casm. As  it  was,  he  winced  a  little  under  its  ex- 
aggeration, but  the  substance  pleased  him.  He 
squared  his  shoulders  unconsciously  as  he  answered  : 

"  Well,  I  am  only  at  the  threshold  as  yet,  but  if 
there  is  any  such  thing  as  doing  it,  I  am  going  to 
push  my  way  on.  It  doesn't  seem  so  easy  always, 
when  you  are  right  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  but  now, 
after  my  rest  here,  I  feel  like  an  eagle  refreshed.  I 
am  full  of  new  ideas  and  ambitions.  I  owe  a  good 
deal  of  it  to  Ansdell,  I  suppose.  You  never  saw 
such  a  fellow  for  making  everybody  believe  as  he 
does,  and  take  an  exalted  view  of  things,  and  long 
to  be  doing  something  great.  John  prescribed  him 
to  me  as  a  doctor  would  some  medicine,  and  I  took 
him  more  or  less  under  protest,  but  I  feel  immensely 
better  already." 

Isabel  took  only  a  languid  interest  in  the  inspiring 
qualities  of  this  prodigy,  and  reverted  to  her  own 
grievance : 

"  Yes,  you  will  go  and  conquer  your  position.     I 


Dear  Isabel.  175 

will  stay  here  and  count  those  miserable  poplars 
across  the  road — did  you  ever  see  a  more  monoto- 
nous row  ? — and  work  anti-macassars  for  no  one  to 
see,  and  mope  my  heart  out.  Why,  do  you  know, 
I  haven't  one  single  correspondent !  " 

The  full  enormity  of  the  situation  thus  revealed 
was  lost  upon  Seth,  who  had  never  written  more 
than  half-a-dozen  letters  in  his  life,  and  did  not  see 
why  people  who  did  not  have  to  write  letters  should 
want  to  do  so.  But  he  said  "  Indeed  !  "  as  compas- 
sionately as  he  could. 

"  No,  not  one.  I  did  think  you  might  have  taken 
pity  on  me,  but  for  all  the  year  that  you  have  been 
away,  I  have  never  heard  a  word  from  you." 

"  I  wrote  once  or  twice  to  Albert,"  Seth  answered, 
tentatively,  to  occupy  time  until  he  could  turn 
around  in  his  mind  the  immense  suggestion  involved 
in  this  complaint. 

"  Yes,  and  I  used  to  hear  at  the  breakfast  table— 
'  Oh,  by  the  way,  Aunt  Sabrina,  Seth  sends  his  love 
to  you  and  Isabel — '  only  this  and  nothing  more ! 
What  is  the  good  of  having  a  literary  man  in  the 
family,  if  he  doesn't  write  you  long,  nice  letters?" 

The  vista  which  had  flashed  itself  before  Seth's 
mental  vision  was  filled  with  dazzling  light.  He 
could  not  mask  the  exultation  in  his  voice  as  he 
asked : 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  to  write  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  waited  to  be  asked,"  she 
said,  smiling  again.  "  Yes,  you  shall  write  me — and 
long  letters  too,  mind — as  often  as  you  like."  She 


176  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

added  after  a  moment's  pause,  in  which  both  had 
been  turning  over  the  same  idea,  "You  needn't  be 
afraid  of  writing  too  often.  The  bundle  from  the 
post  office  always  comes  to  me  in  the  morning,  hours 
before  Jic  gets  downstairs.  Dana  brings  it  up  when 
he  comes  back  from  the  cheese-factory,  and  it 
never  goes  into  any  one's  hands  but  mine.  Beside, 
henceforth  I  shall  watch  for  it  all  the  more  care- 
fully." 

Next  morning  Seth  prepared  once  again  to  leave 
the  homestead,  but  this  time  with  a  light  heart  and 
a  gay  demeanor.  A  month's  absence  had  served  so  to 
remodel  his  views  of  the  Chronicle,  that  he  already 
felt  himself  to  be  a  personage  of  importance,  in  its 
control.  He  had  been  constantly  spoken  of  in  the 
village  as  "  one  of  the  editors  "  of  that  journal,  and 
found  so  much  pleasure  in  the  designation  that  he 
had  come  to  use  it  in  thinking  of  himself.  He  felt 
himself  fired,  too,  with  new  enthusiasm  and  power 
by  his  talks  with  Ansdell,  and  he  believed,  not  only 
that  he  saw  where  his  past  errors  had  lain,  but  that 
he  knew  now  the  trick  of  success.  Above  all,  he 
was  to  write  long  letters  to  Isabel,  and  receive  an- 
swers equally  long  and  nice  from  her,  and — this  gave 
him  an  especial  sense  of  delight — it  was  all  to  be  a 
secret  between  them. 

The  sun  shone  brightly,  too,  after  the  rain,  as  if 
to  be  in  harmony  with  his  mood.  Albert  was  more 
affable  than  he  had  been  before,  and  after  breakfast, 
and  while  the  carriage  was  being  brought  around, 


Dear  Isabel. 


177 


gave  him  some  cigars  for  the  journey,  and  a  $20  bill 
for  pocket  money.  These  were  pleasant  preludes 
to  a  little  brotherly  conversation. 

"  I  wish  you  would  hurry  up  and  get  to  have  a 
say  on  the  Chronicle  as  soon  as  you  can,  Seth,"  said 
the  lawyer,  holding  him  by  the  lappel  in  fraternal 
fashion.  "  You  can  help  me  there,  help  me  very  ma- 
terially. I  am  going  to  be  nominated  for  Congress 
in  this  district  next  year — don't  whisper  about  it 
yet,  but  I've  got  it  solid.  I  haven't  let  any  grass 
grow  under  my  feet  since  I  moved  here,  and  they 
can't  beat  me  in  the  Convention.  But  the  Chronicle 
can  do  a  good  deal  in  the  election,  and  I  look  to 
you  for  that.  I  am  not  going  to  Washington  with- 
out knowing  my  business  after  I  get  there.  There 
is  a  big  thing  on  hand,  big  for  me,  big  for  you  too. 
Good-bye  now,  my  boy  ;  I  must  get  upstairs  to  my 
writing.  You  won't  forget !  " 

No,  Seth  promised,  very  cordially  and  heartily, 
he  would  not  forget. 

When  his  traps  had  been  piled  again  into  the  car- 
riage, and  he  said  good-bye  to  his  Aunt  and  to  Alvira, 
no  Isabel  was  to  be  seen.  She  had  been  at  break- 
fast, but  had  subsequently  disappeared.  Seth  went 
into  the  living  room — no  one  was  there.  He  opened 
the  door  to  the  stairs  and  called  out  her  name — no 
answer.  As  he  closed  the  door  again,  he  heard  the 
faintest  tinkle  imaginable  from  a  piano  key.  He 
not  thought  of  the  parlor,  which  was  ordinarily 
unused,  but  he  hastened  to  it  now.  Isabel  stood  at 
the  instrument,  her  head  bowed;  her  finger  still 


178  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

pressing  the  key.  She  turned  with  a  dear  little 
exclamation,  which  might  be  either  of  surprise  or 
satisfied  expectancy,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  So  you  wouldn't  go,  after  all,  without  saying 
good-bye  to  me  !  " 

"  Why,  Isabel,  you  know  better  !  "  answered  Seth, 
still  very  downright  for  his  years.  He  was  actually 
pained  at  her  having  fancied  him  capable  of  such  a 
thing,  and  while  he  held  her  hand,  he  looked  at  her 
with  mild  reproach  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  do  I  ?  "  she  answered,  rather  inconsequently. 
Then  she  sighed,  and  bowed  her  fair  head  again. 
"  Have  you  given  it  a  thought  at  all — how  lonely  it 
will  be  after  you  are  gone  for — for  those  who  are 
left  behind  ?  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it — I  came  HI 
here  because  I  couldn't  stand  and  see  the  horses  at 
the  door,  and  the  preparations  for  your  going. 
It  is  as  if  the  tomb  door  were  swinging  back 
on  me  again.  I  am  foolish,  I  know — "  here  the 
words  were  much  hampered  in  their  flow  by  in- 
cipient sobs — "  but  if  you  could  realize  my  position 
— the  awful  desolation  of  it,  the — the — "  She  broke 
down  altogether,  and,  with  the  disengaged  hand,  put 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Seth  had  never  seen  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman  in  tears  before,  off  the  stage,  but  his  racial 
instincts  served  him  in  the  emergency.  He  gently 
took  her  hand  down  again,  holding  them  both,  now, 
in  his.  He  told  her,  again  surprising  himself  by  the 
smoothness  and  felicity  of  his  words,  how  delightful 
she  had  made  his  visit,  how  deeply  he  prized  her 


Dear  Isabel.  179 

sympathy  and  compassionated  her  lot,  and  how  the 
pangs  of  regret  at  parting  were  only  solaced  by  the 
thought  that  she  had  permitted  him  to  write.  Then 
he  kissed  her — and  hurried  out  to  the  carriage. 

The  handsome,  high-bitted  grays  made  short  work 
of  the  drive  to  Thessaly  station,  where  John  was 
waiting  to  have  a  parting  word,  so  that  Seth 
scarcely  had  time  to  collect  his  thoughts  and  settle 
accounts  with  himself,  before  the  train  started. 
Three  hours  later  when  he  got  off  at  Tecumseh,  he 
had  progressed  no  further  in  his  work  of  striking  a 
moral  balance  than  : 

"  After  all,  she  is  my  cousin  as  well  as  my  sister- 
in-law." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

AN     UPWARD     LEAP. 

"  WHAT  man  of  achievement  cannot  recall  some 
one  short  period  of  his  life  which  seems  to  transcend 
in  significance  and  value  all  the  rest  of  his  career 
— when  great  things  for  which  he  had  only  uncon- 
sciously waited  came  to  him  without  the  asking ; 
when  the  high  court  of  events  rendered  its  sud- 
den, unexpected  verdict  of  success,  without  costs  to 
him  who  had  never  made  a  plea ;  when  the  very 
stars  in  their  courses  seemed  to  have  privily  con- 
spired to  fight  for  him  ?  How  swift,  inexplicable, 
even  amazing  it  all  was  !  And  yet  how  simple  too  ! 
And  when  the  first  flush  of  astonishment — half  de- 
light, half  diffidence — had  passed,  how  natural  it  all 
seemed  ;  how  mind  and  manners  and  methods  all 
expanded  to  meet  the  new  requirements ;  how 
calmly  and  as  a  matter  of  course  the  dignity  was 
worn,  the  increment  appropriated,  the  mental  retina 
adapted  to  the  widened  focus !  How  easily,  too, 
he  sloughed  off  his  own  conviction  that  it  was  all 
pure  luck,  and  accepted  the  world's  kind  judgment 
of  deserved  success !  Who  is  it  that  accuses  the 
world,  and  rails  at  its  hardness  of  heart?  What 
man  among  us  all,  in  the  hour  of  honest  introspec- 


An   Upward  Leap.  181 

tion,  does  not  know  that  he  is  rated  too  high,  that 
he  is  in  debt  to  the  credulity,  the  generosity,  the 
dear  old  human  tendency  to  hero-worship,  of  his 
fellows  ?  " 

This  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  which  the  success- 
ful Seth  Fairchild  wrote  a  few  months  ago.  Chrono- 
logically, it  is  dated  only  a  couple  of  years  after  the 
occurrences  with  which  we  are  now  concerned — but 
to  him  an  interval  of  decades  doubtless  seemed  to 
separate  the  periods.  Perhaps  the  modesty  of  it  is 
a  trifle  self-conscious,  and  the  rhetoric  is  of  a  flam- 
boyant kind  which  he  will  never,  apparently,  out- 
grow, but  at  all  events  it  shows  a  disposition  to  be 
fair  as  between  himself  and  history.  The  period  of 
great  fortune,  to  which  he  alludes,  is  to  be  glanced  at 
in  this  present  chapter — to  be  limned,  though  only 
in  outline,  more  clearly  no  doubt  than  he  himself 
could  be  trusted  to  do  it.  For,  though  a  man  have 
never  so  fine  a  talent  for  self-analysis,  you  are  safe 
to  be  swamped  if  you  follow  him  a  step  beyond 
your  own  depth.  In  cold  fact,  Seth  could  no  more 
tell  how  it  was  that,  within  one  short  year,  he  rose 
from  the  very  humblest  post  to  become  Editor  of  the 
Chronicle,  than  Master  Tom  here  can  explain  why 
he  has  outgrown  his  last  summer's  knickerbockers 
while  his  twin  brother  hasn't. 

He  had  been  back  at  his  work  in  Tecumseh  only 
a  month  when  word  came  to  the  office  one  morning 
that  Mr.  Tyler  could  not  come — that  he  had  been 
seriously  injured  in  the  havoc  wrought  by  a  run- 
away horse.  It  was  too  early  for  either  editor  or 


1 82  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

proprietor  to  be  on  the  scene,  and  Arthur  Dent  at 
that  hour  was  the  visible  head  of  the  staff.  He  and 
Seth  had  scarcely  spoken  to  each  other  for  months — 
in  fact  since  that  disagreeable  evening  encounter 
— but  he  walked  over  now  to  our  young  man's  desk 
and  said : 

"  Mr.  Fairchild,  you  would  better  take  the  News 
to-day.  Tyler  has  been  badly  hurt." 

Marvelling  much  at  the  favoritism  of  the  selection, 
for  Dent  had  not  only  passed  Murtagh  over  but  had 
waived  his  own  claims  of  precedence,  Seth.  changed 
desks.  He  got  through  the  work  well  enough,  it  ap- 
peared, but  he  mistrusted  deeply  his  ability  to  hold 
the  place.  Mr.  Samboye  did  not  seem  to  approve  his 
promotion,  though  he  said  nothing,  and  the  manner 
in  which  Mr.  Workman  looked  at  him  in  his  new 
chair  seemed  distinctly  critical. 

After  the  paper  had  gone  to  press,  and  some  little 
routine  work  against  the  next  morning's  start  was 
out  of  the  way,  he  wavered  between  idling  the  re- 
maining two  hours  away  among  the  exchanges,  or 
attempting  an  editorial  article  for  the  morrow,  such 
as  Mr.  Tyler  occasionally  contributed.  His  former 
experience  with  Mr.  Samboye  dismayed  him  a  bit, 
but  he  concluded  to  try  the  editorial  experiment 
again.  Some  things  which  Ansdell  had  said  one  day 
on  the  Silver  question  remained  in  his  mind,  and  he 
made  them  the  basis  of  a  half-column  article.  He 
was  finishing  this  when  the  office-boy  told  him  Mr. 
Workman  wished  to  see  him  below.  He  took  his 
Silver  article  with  him,  vaguely  hoping,  hardly  ex- 


An   Upward  Leap.  183 

pecting,  to  be  congratulated  on  his  day's  work,  and 
told  to  keep  the  desk. 

Seth's  impressions  of  his  employer  were  that  he 
was  a  hard,  peremptory  man,  and  he  searched  his 
face  now  for  some  sign  of  softness  in  vain.  Mr. 
Workman  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  and  said  ab- 
ruptly : 

"  You  were  on  the  News  desk  to-day.  Did  you 
take  it  yourself,  or  were  you  sent  there  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Dent  told  me  to  take  it,  sir." 

"  Why  didn't  he  take  it  himself,  or  put  Murtagh 
on?" 

Seth  had  it  in  mind  to  explain  that  Murtagh  did 
not  come  down  early  enough,  but  he  remembered 
how  strenuous  the  rules  were  in  the  matter  of  ma- 
tutinal punctuality,  and  concluded  to  say  simply  that 
he  didn't  know.  Mr.  Workman  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  made  some  arabesque  figures  with  his  pen- 
cil on  the  edge  of  the  blotter,  looked  at  him  again, 
and  then  said,  in  a  milder  tone  than  Seth  had  sup- 
posed his  voice  capable  of : 

"  I  may  as  well  be  candid  with  you.  I  have  been 
very  much  disappointed  in  you  so  far.  You  haven't 
panned  out  at  all  as  your  brother  led  me  to  expect 
you  would." 

This  was  a  knock-down  blow.  Poor  Seth  could 
only  turn  his  copy  about  in  his  hands  and  stammer : 
"  I  am  very  sorry.  In  what  way  have  I  failed?" 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  tell  exactly  in  what  way.  I 
should  say  it  was  in  a  general  failure  to  be  the  sort 
of  young  man  I  thought  you  were  going  to  be.  You 


1 84  Scth's  Brothers    Wife. 

have  shown  no  inclination,  for  example,  to  write  any- 
thing— and  yet  your  brother  praised  you  up  to  the 
skies  as  a  writer." 

"  But  what  was  the  good  ?  I  did  write  a  long  para- 
graph when  I  first  came  here,  and  handed  it  in  to 
Mr.  Samboye,  and  he  tore  it  up  before  my  eyes ! 
That  would  be  enough  to  discourage  anybody !  " 

"Oh,  he  did  that  with  you  too,  did  he?"  Mr. 
Workman  made  more  arabesques  on  his  blotter, 
shading  them  with  great  neatness. 

Seth  thought  this  was  a  favorable  opportunity  to 
get  in  his  Silver  article,  and  handed  it  to  the  pro- 
prietor with  a  word  of  explanation.  Mr.  Workman 
read  it  over  carefully  and  laid  it  aside  without  a  syl- 
lable of  comment.  There  was  nothing  in  his  face 
to  show  whether  he  liked  it  or  not.  He  surrounded 
all  his  penciled  figures  with  a  wavy  border,  and  said 
again : 

"  Then  there  are  your  associations.  Before  ever 
you  came  I  was  discouraged  at  the  amount  of  money 
and  time  and  health  my  young  men  were  squander- 
ing in  saloons.  It  had  become  a  scandal  to  the 
town.  I  get  a  young  man  in  from  the  country, 
whose  habits  are  vouched  for  as  perfect,  with  an  idea 
that  he  will  influence  the  rest,  and  lo  and  behold  !  he 
becomes  the  boss  guzzler  of  the  lot !  " 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  justice  in  that,  Mr.  Work- 
man— or  there  was.  But  since  I've  been  back  this 
time  it  has  been  changed.  I  have  moved  into  an- 
other boarding  house  where  I  have  a  room  to  myself, 
and  I  have  read  at  home  almost  every  evening  when 


An   Upward  Leap.  185 

I  was  not  with  Mr.  Ansdell.  I  think  I  see  the  folly 
of  that  old  way,  as  clearly  as  any  one  can." 

"Ansdell  and  I  had  a  long  talk  about  you  the 
other  day.  It  was  he  who  gave  me  my  first  idea  that 
there  was  anything  in  you.  He  is  something  of  a 
crank  on  certain  subjects,  but  he  knows  men  like  a 
book.  I  have  been  saying  to  myself  that  if  he  liked 
you  there  must  be  more  in  you  than  I  had  dis- 
covered. If  I  am  right  in  this,  now  is  your  time  to 
show  it.  It  is  a  toss  up,  the  doctors  say  this  after- 
noon, whether  poor  Tyler  lives  or  dies.  In  any  case 
he  won't  be  about  in  months.  You  can  keep  on 
at  the  desk  for  a  while.  We'll  see  how  you  make 
it  go." 

The  next  afternoon,  when  the  inky  boy  brought 
up  the  damp  first  copies  from  the  clanging,  roaring 
region  of  the  press,  Seth  was  transfixed  with  bewil- 
derment at  seeing  his  article  in  the  position  of 
honor  on  the  editorial  page.  While  he  still  stared 
at  it,  amazed  and  troubled,  Mr.  Samboye  with  an 
angry  snort  swung  around  in  his  chair  to  face  him : 

"  Is  this  Silver  thing  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  it  is  your  conception  of  the  ethics  of  jour- 
nalism, is  it,  to  sneak  leaders  into  the  composing 
room  without  authority?" 

"  I  sneaked  nothing  in !  I  gave  the  copy  to  Mr. 
Workman  last  night.  I  am  as  much  surprised  to  see 
it  the  leader  as  you  are." 

Mr.  Samboye  rose  abruptly,  and  strode  through 
the  room  to  the  stairs.  They  were  ricketty  at  best 


1 86  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

and  they  trembled,  the  whole  floor  trembled,  under 
his  wrathful  and  ponderous  tread. 

The  fat-armed  foreman,  who  was  in  on  his  eternal 
quest  for  copy,  had  heard  this  dialogue.  He  grin- 
ned as  the  Editor  slammed  the  door  below,  and 
chuckled  out  "  He'll  get  his  comb  cut  now.  The 
boss  ordered  your  thing  to  be  the  leader  himself." 

Mr.  Samboye  presently  returned  with  his  broad 
face  glowing  crimson,  and  seated  himself  at  his  work 
again  in  gloomy  silence.  He  made  more  erasures 
than  usual,  and  soon  gave  it  up  altogether,  taking 
his  hat  and  stick  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and 
stamping  his  way  out. 

Time  went  on.  The  luckless  Mr.  Tyler  died,  and 
Seth  became  confirmed  in  his  place.  He  had  devel- 
oped more  strongly,  perhaps,  than  any  other  one 
trait,  the  capacity  for  system,  and  he  was  able  to  so 
remodel  and  expedite  the  routine  work  of  the  News 
desk  that  he  had  a  good  deal  of  time  for  editorial 
writing.  His  matter  was  never  again  given  the  place 
of  honor,  but  it  came  to  be  an  important  and  regu- 
lar feature  of  the  page.  He  worked  hard  on  the 
paper — and  almost  equally  hard,  by  spells,  at  home 
evenings.  He  did  drop  in  at  Bismarck's  or  some  like 
place,  for  a  few  moments  now  and  then,  but  he  was 
careful  to  avoid  games,  or  any  further  intimacy  with 
habitues.  Had  it  not  been  for  Ansdell  and  Dent, 
this  part  of  his  new  regimen  would  have  been  well 
nigh  impossible,  for  the  gregarious  instinct  was 
strong  in  him — as  it  is  in  any  young  man  worth  his 
salt — and  associations  of  some  sort  were  as  necessary 


An   Upward  Leap.  187 

as  food  to  him.  He  had  discovered,  long  before 
this,  that  Dent  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  Ansdell's, 
and  that  he,  in  fact,  had  told  the  latter  about  Seth 
and  his  profitless  courses,  and  interested  the  lawyer 
in  his  case. 

He  had  learned,  too,  that  this  pale  "  Young  Man 
Christian  "  as  Watts  had  called  him  derisively,  had 
from  the  first  been  well-disposed  toward  him,  and, 
when  the  emergency  of  Tyler's  absence  came  up, 
had  waived  alike  his  own  claims  to  preferment  and 
his  justifiable  personal  pique,  and  thrust  Seth  forward 
into  the  place  because  he  felt  that  he  needed  some 
such  incentive  to  make  a  man  of  himself.  This  was 
very  high  conduct,  and  Seth  tried  hard  to  like  Dent 
a  great  deal  in  return.  He  never  quite  succeeded. 
They  were  too  dissimilar  in  temperament  to  ever 
become  close  friends.  Seth  explained  it  to  himself 
by  saying  that  Dent  was  too  cold  and  non-emotional. 
But  Dent  himself  never  seemed  conscious  of  any- 
thing lacking  in  their  relations,  and  they  were  cer- 
tainly cordial  and  companionable  enough  when  they 
met,  generally  two  evenings  a  week,  at  Mr.  Ansdell's 
chambers. 

Nothing  less  like  the  bachelor's  den  dear  to  tra- 
dition can  be  imagined.  There  were  no  pipes, 
for  the  lawyer  smoked  cigars  and  nothing  else ; 
there  was  no  litter  of  papers,  opened  books,  pam- 
phlets, scraps  and  the  like,  for  he  was  the  soul  of 
order ;  no  tumbled  clothes,  odd  boots,  overflowing 
trunks,  etc.,  for  he  was  the  pink  of  neatness.  He 
used  to  like  to  describe  himself  in  the  words  with 


1 88  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

which  Evelyn  paints  his  father,  as  "  of  a  thriving, 
neat,  silent,  methodical  genius,"  but  it  was  always 
with  a  twinkling  eye,  for  surely  no  man  was  ever 

o  less  silent.  He  was  a  born  talker — nervous,  eager, 
fluent,  with  a  delicate  sense  of  the  sound  and  shad- 
ing of  words,  a  keen  appreciation  of  all  picturesque 

.  and  salient  points,  a  rare  delight  in  real  humor,  and, 
above  all,  with  tremendous  capabilities  of  earnest- 
ness. Conceive  such  a  man,  if  you  can — for  there 
will  never  be  another  like  him — and  then  endow 
him  in  your  mind  with  a  marvelous  accumulation  of 
knowledge,  with  convictions  upon  every  conceivable 
subject,  and  with  nothing  short  of  a  passion  for  en- 
forcing these  upon  those  of  whom  he  was  fond — 
and  some  idea  of  the  perfect  ascendancy  he  gained 
over  Seth  will  have  been  obtained. 

•Mr.  Ansdell  was  neither  impeccable  nor  omnis- 
cient. There  was  much  in  both  his  theories  and  his 
practice  which  would  not  commend  itself  to  the 
moral  statutes  of  the  age ;  he  attempted  no  defense, 
being  incredulous  as  to  the  right  of  criticism  upon 
personal  predilections.  But  he  had  a  flaming  wrath, 
a  consuming,  intolerant  contempt,  for  men  who 
were  unable  to  distinguish  between  private  tastes 
and- public  duty.  On  this  subject  of  public  duty  he 
was  so  strenuous,  so  deeply  earnest,  that  often  there 
seemed  but  a  microscopic  line  between  his  attitude 
and  fanaticism.  But  this  zeal  had  its  magnificent 
uses.  Often  it  swayed  despite  themselves  the  poli- 
ticians of  his  party  who  had  least  in  common  with 
him,  and  who  disliked  him  and  vaunted  their  con- 


An   Upward  Leap.  189 

vcntional  superiority  to  him  even  while  they  were 
being  swept  along  toward  nobler  purposes  than  their 
own  small  souls  could  ever  have  conceived,  in  the 
current  of  feeling  which  his  devotion  had  created. 

He  took  complete  possession  of  Seth's  mind,  and  "* 
he  worked  wonders  upon  it.     There  is  neither  room 
here,  nor   power,  to   analyze   these   achievements,  j 
The  young  man,  heretofore  through  circumstances 
slow  and  mechanical,  revealed  under  the  inspiration 
of  this  contact  his  true  temperament.     He  became  » 
as  receptive  as  a  sensitized  plate  in  the  camera.     He 
seemed  to  take  in  facts,  theories,  emotions,  preju- 
dices, beliefs,  through  the  very  pores  of  his  skin. 
He  found  himself  hating  one  line  of  public  action, 
and   all   its    votaries,    vividly ;    he   found    himself 
thrilling  with  violent  enthusiasm  for  another  line, 
and  its  exponents — such  an  enthusiasm  as  exiled 
men  tremble  under  when  they  hear  the  national  air 
of  their  native  land. 

He  was  not  always  right.  Very  often  indeed  he 
did  injustice,  in  his  mind,  and  in  the  types  as  well, 
to  really  well-meaning  men  who  after  their  lights 
were  just  as  patriotic  as  he  was.  He  condemned 
with  undue  ferocity  where  he  could  not  unreserved- 
ly praise,  and,  like  most  men  of  three-and-twenty 
who  sit  on  the  tripod  of  judgment  upon  their  fellow 
mortals,  he  made  many  mistakes.  But  his  mental 
and  moral  advance,  despite  these  limitations,  was 
tremendously  swift,  and,  in  the  main,  substantial. 
No  man  ever  made  the  world  budge  an  inch  ahead 
who  had  not  well  developed  the  capacity  for  indig- 


190  Set  Its  Brothers   Wife. 

nation  at  weak  and  wrong  things.  This  indignant 
faculty  grew  and  swelled  in  Seth's  nature  like  a 
strong  vine,  spreading  upon  the  tree  of  his  admira- 
tion for  his  ideals. 

He  had  a  fair  income  now — twenty  dollars  a  week 
— and  he  lived  very  well,  having  a  room  in  a  good 
house,  and  taking  his  meals  down  town.  This  was 
a  condition  of  life  which  had  always  commended 
itself  to  his  imagination,  and  he  revelled  now  in 
realising  it.  Of  course  he  saved  no  money. 
Through  Ansdell  and  others  he  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  number  of  Tecumseh  men  of  posi- 
tion, and  he  had  been  asked  a  little  to  their  houses, 
but  he  had  not  gone  more  than  once.  This  single 
experience  did  not  dismay  or  humiliate  him  ;  he 
flattered  himself  that  he  came  out  of  it  with  credit. 
But  it  did  not  interest  him  ;  it  was  wofully  diffi- 
cult to  talk  to  the  women  he  met — to  know  what 
to  say  to  them.  It  was  the  easier  to  come  back 
from  this  one  excursion  to  his  old  Bohemian  bache- 
lor notions,  and  justify  them  to  himself. 

The  correspondence  with  Isabel  had  not  been  al- 
together so  attractive  as  he  had  anticipated.  It  had 
its  extremely  pleasant  side,  of  course,  but  there  were 
drawbacks.  She  wrote  well,  but  then  most  of  her 
writing  was  about  herself,  which  grew  wearisome 
after  a  time.  It  was  difficult  too,  to  find  time  to 
answer  her  letters  always  when  the  philandering 
mood  was  upon  him,  and  in  this  matter  he  found 
himself  curiously  the  creature  of  his  moods.  The 
routine  of  daily  newspaper  toil  had  rendered  him 


An   Upward  Leap.  191 

largely  independent  of  them  in  his  ordinary  work.  He 
wrote  about  as  well  one  day  as  another.  But  there 
were  seasons  when  he  could  not  write  to  Isabel  at 
all.  Then  he  would  say  to  himself  that  the  need  of 
doing  so  was  a  nuisance,  and  in  this  frame  of  mind 
he  would  generally  end  by  reproaching  himself  for 
even  entertaining  the  idea  of  a  mild  flirtation  with 
his  brother's  wife.  Not  that  there  was  anything 
wrong  in  it,  of  course  ;  he  was  quite  clear  on  this 
point ;  but  it  was  so  useless,  such  a  gratuitous  out- 
lay of  time  and  talent ! 

But  then  next  day,  perhaps,  a  good  dinner,  or  a 
chance  glimpse  of  fresh  romance  in  the  exchanges, 
or  some  affecting  play  at  the  theatre  of  an  evening, 
would  bring  back  all  the  glamour  of  her  pretty,  ten- 
der face,  the  magic  of  her  eyes,  the  perfume  of  her 
tawny  hair.  And  then  he  could  write,  and  did  write, 
often  with  a  force  of  sweet  rhetoric,  a  moving  qual- 
ity of  caressing  ardor,  which  it  is  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish from  love  making. 

To  him  these  letters  did  not  mean  that  at  all ; 
they  were  really  abstract  reflections  of  the  senti- 
mental side  of  his  nature,  which  might  have  been 
evoked  by  almost  any  likable,  intelligent  woman. 

But  to  the  wife  on  the  farm  they  seemed  deeply, 
deliciously,  personal. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

BOLTING    THE    TICKET. 

IT  was  the  year  of  a  great  political  revival — coming 
none  too  soon. 

It  is  a  part  of  the  history  of  human  progress  that 
grand  moral  movements,  once  they  have  fulfilled 
their  immediate  purpose,  swing  backward  to  the  es- 
tablishment of  some  new  abuse.  The  net  gain  is, 
no  doubt,  century  by  century,  continuous.  But  to 
those  who  look  for  episodic  interest  rather  than 
epochal  meaning  the  march  of  the  race  must  often 
seem  crab  like — as  when  a  Henry  VIII  utilizes  a 
reforming  revolt  to  crush  and  plunder  a  vast  system 
of  benefaction,  and  create  a  hard-fisted,  commercial 
plutocracy  with  one  hand,  while  calling  into  exist- 
ence with  the  other  a  permanent  class  of  starving 
poor ;  or  when  a  Bonaparte  makes  the  waning  im- 
petus of  a  democratic  uprising  serve  his  imperial 
ambition,  and  converts  the  legions  of  the  Republic 
into  the  guards  of  a  Caesar. 

So,  in  our  own  time,  in  our  own  country,  craft  and 
greed  had  climbed  to  the  control  of  a  great  organiza- 
tion, baptized  in  the  name  of  Freedom  and  excited  still 
with  the  thoughts  of  its  tremendous  achievements, 
and  diverted  its  forces  to  the  service  of  base  ends. 


Bolting  the   Ticket.  193 

This  ignoble  mastery  had  not  gone  unchallenged. 
More  than  one  revolt  against  it  had  given  promise, 
for  a  little,  of  success.  But  each  in  its  failure  had 
but  repeated  the  familiar  experience  of  yeomanry 
against  trained  troops,  of  sporadic,  scattering  popu- 
lar impulses  against  the  cool,  consecutive  plans  of 
organized  power.  But  it  is  the  fate  of  despotisms, 
whether  of  a  man  or  of  a  machine,  to  by  excesses 
sap  their  own  foundations.  There  came  a  time  when 
the  political  usurpers  who,  through  the  listlessness 
of  some  citizens,  the  ancient  prejudices  of  others, 
the  mean  lust  for  profit  and  place  of  still  a  third 
class,  had  attained  power,  went  just  a  step  too  far. 

As  this  is  a  romance,  and  not  a  political  history, 
it  is  permitted  to  avoid  both  dates  and  any  details 
which  might  seem  to  fix  a  particular  occurrence,  and 
ask  the  reader  to  conceive  that  the  crisis  grew  out 
of  the  manner  in  which  these  politicians  obtained 
control  of  an  imaginary  but  important  Convention 
— that  they  bribed  delegates,  that  they  forged  tele- 
grams to  secure  a  majority  for  themselves  on  the 
organizing  committee,  and  that  they  made  drunk 
the  poor  tool  they  had  selected  for  Chairman  and 
locked  him  in  his  hotel  room  that  he  might  not 
escape  them.  It  strains  credulity  to  assume  all  this, 
I  know,  but  its  acceptance  is  essential  to  the  story. 
Fortunately  it  is  less  difficult  to  credit  the  corollary 
— that  the  decent  people  of  the  State,  led  by  an 
honest  press,  rose  en  masse  and  pulverized  this  ma- 
chine at  the  following  election. 

It  was  at  the  outset  of  this  crisis  that  Seth 
13  i 


194  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

became  Editor  of  the  Tecumseh  Chronicle.  The 
young  man  had  been,  it  need  scarcely  be  said, 
deeply  interested  in  the  events  which  led  up  to  it, 
and  when  the  first  of  the  party  papers  came  out 
frankly,  the  morning  after  the  Convention,  refusing 
to  support  its  nominations,  he  was  in  a  tremor  of 
delight.  He  scarcely  dared  hope  that  the  Chronicle 
would  follow  their  lead,  but  still  he  did  hope.  Mr. 
Samboye  remained  downstairs  in  consultation  with 
Mr.  Workman  longer  than  usual  on  that  eventful 
forenoon.  They  were  settling  the  policy  of  the  paper, 
of  course,  and  the  young  news  editor,  perfunctorily 
weeding  out  copy  for  the  "  first  side,"  was  conscious 
all  the  while  of  being  eagerly  anxious  to  know  what 
this  policy  was  to  be. 

Mr.  Samboye  presently  came  up,  took  his  seat 
without  the  ordinary  prelude  of  conversation,  and 
began  writing.  He  finished  his  article,  still  without 
a  word  to  any  one,  and  took  it  down  to  Mr.  Work- 
man. He  was  absent  but  a  few  moments.  On  his 
return  Seth  asked  him : 

"  Do  we  bolt  the  ticket  ?  " 

Before  he  could  answer,  a  telegraph  boy  came 
running  up  the  stairs  (this  one  actually  did  run)  with 
a  dispatch  for  Mr.  Samboye.  The  editor  opened 
and  read  it  in  a  puzzled  way  at  first,  then  more 
carefully  and  with  a  light  of  comprehension  on  his 
broad  face.  He  folded  the  telegram  up  carefully, 
put  it  into  his  inner  vest  pocket  and  said  to  Seth : 

"  No,  we  occupy  a  picturesque  position  on  the 
top  rail  of  the  fence." 


Bolting  the   Ticket.  195 

The  editor  did  not  seem  quite  himself  that  day. 
He  stayed  about  the  editorial  room  instead  of  going 
out  to  lunch,  until  the  leader  proof  was  ready,  and 
then  he  asked  to  read  it  himself,  instead  of  letting 
it  go  in  the  ordinary  course  to  the  proof-reader. 
He  made  a  good  many  corrections  on  it,  which  was 
unusual  for  him.  Finally,  about  half-an-hour  before 
the  paper  went  to  press,  he  took  his  departure,  saying 
briefly  to  Seth  that  he  would  not  return  that  day. 

Two  hours  later  the  office  boy  summoned  Seth 
to  the  counting-room  below.  Mr.  Workman  sat 
alone  at  his  desk,  with  the  day's  Chronicle  spread 
out  before  him,  and  with  the  original  proof-sheet  of 
the  leader  in  his  hand.  He  motioned  Seth  to  close 
the  doors,  and  to  take  a  seat  close  beside  him. 

"You  have  read  this  leader?"  he  asked,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"  Yes." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  say  all  that  I  think  of  it." 

"  Neither  should  I,"  replied  Mr.  Workman  with 
an  iron-clad  smile.  He  was  very  pale,  and  Seth 
scented  a  storm  in  the  manner  in  which  the  grim 
smile  faded  from  his  face  after  an  instant  of  hover- 
ing, as  a  gleam  of  wintry  sunshine  passes  off  the 
snow.  "  There's  a  story — a  very  curious  story — 
back  of  this  leader.  I  only  know  part  of  it ;  per- 
haps you  can  help  me  to  get  at  the  rest." 

Not  knowing  what  to  say,  Seth  remained  silent. 

The  proprietor  continued  :  "When  this  leader  left 
my  hands  this  morning,  it  bolted  the  ticket,  out  and 


196  SetKs  Brothers    Wife. 

out.  There  was  no  mistake  about  it.  It  was  square- 
footed.  As  it  is  now,  it's  neither  fish,  flesh  nor  fowl. 
It  condemns  the  Convention  and  the  frauds,  but  it 
practically  says  that  the  result  must  be  accepted. 
The  worst  of  it  is  I  didn't  see  the  paper  until  the 
edition  had  been  worked  off.  The  alterations  in 
the  proof  here,  which  make  all  the  difference  be- 
tween white  and  black,  are  in  Samboye's  hand. 
Did  he  say  anything  to  you  about  it  ?  Was  any- 
body up  in  the  editorial  room  to  see  him  ?" 

"  No  one  came  up  to  see  him  ;  he  said  nothing  to 
me  except  that  we  were  on  the  fence.  That  dis- 
gusted me  so  much  that  I  asked  nothing  further." 

"  Did  he  say  that  when  he  came  up  from  here — 
or  later,  after  he  had  gone  over  the  proof?" 

"  He  said  it  when — or  no,  hold  on — he  received 
a  dispatch  just  before  ; "  and  Seth  recounted  the 
episode  of  the  telegram. 

Mr.  Workman  was  much^mpressed  with  this.  He 
covered  his  blotter  thick  with  scrolls  and  geometri- 
cal figures  while  he  pondered  it.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"  You  don't  know  where  the  telegram  came  from  ? 
— no,  of  course  not.  I  think  I  know  about  where, 
and  I  think  I  can  guess  about  what  it  said.  It  said 
that,  in  this  matter  of  bolting  tickets,  one  day's  de- 
lay might  make  an  immense  amount  of  difference, 
and  that  it  would  be  worth  his  while  to  keep  the 
Chronicle  non-committal  in  its  first  issue  by  hook  or 
by  crook.  Take  my  word  for  it,  that  is  what  it 
said  in  substance.  The  fellows  who  sent  it  were 
scared  about  the  Chronicle.  They  knew  what  an 


Bolting  the   Ticket.  197 

effect  its  course  would  have  on  the  weeklies,  most 
of  which  go  to  press  to-morrow.  They  couldn't 
spend  money  better  than  in  having  us  accept  the 
ticket,  and  not  only  commit  ourselves  but  the  coun- 
try editors — and  they've  bought  Samboye  !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  two  men  looked 
at  each  other.  Finally  Workman  said : 

"  The  worst  feature  of  it  is,  there  is  no  way  of 
getting  at  the  thing — of  proving  it.  I  suppose  I 
could  get  an  order  compelling  the  Company  to  pro- 
duce the  telegram,  but  I  am  not  sure,  and  then  it 
would  be  a  big  scandal  and  a-  big  expense."  He 
lapsed  into  pencil  work  again  and  sighed. 

"  But  is  Samboye  that  kind  of  man  ?  "  asked  Seth. 

"Oh  yes,  I  have  no  illusions  on  that  score.  I 
very  nearly  caught  him  in  a  thing  of  this  sort — on  a 
smaller  scale,  of  course — three  years  ago." 

"  But  why  then " 

"  Why  have  I  kept  him  ?  You  were  going  to 
ask.  Well,  he  is  a  good  man  in  his  way.  He  is  an 
immensely  clever  writer,  if  you  don't  care  much  for 
solid  argument,  and  do  care  for  decorative  stuff, 
with  a  good  deal  of  fun,  and  epigram,  and  big  words. 
People  used  to  talk  about  his  articles.  I  suppose 
hundreds  of  people  buy  the  Chronicle  just  to  read 
them.  Well,  we  will  have  to  lose  those  people,  and 
all  the  others  who  will  quarrel  with  us  for  bolting 
the  ticket.  For  she's  going  to  be  bolted  !  So  you 
better  go  to  bed  early  to-night,  and  eat  raw  meat 
for  breakfast,  for  we  want  a  leader  to-morrow  that 
will  make  their  hair  curl." 


198  Set /is  Brothers   Wife. 

"  Do  you  mean — "  began  Seth  in  a  flutter  of 
strange  excitement. 

"  Yes,  you  will  have  to  take  hold.  Samboye  shall 
never  show  his  face  in  that  room  again.  That's 
settled  !  I  may  get  somebody  else,  later — we'll  see. 
But  you  can  carry  it  along  for  a  time,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  try — but  I  am  afraid — 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid.  In  a  campaign  you 
simply  want  straightforward,  red-hot,  to-the-point 
writing.  It  is  the  rest  of  the  year,  when  one  must 
write  general  matter,  that  pulls  on  a  man.  Besides, 
Ansdell  will  help  you  out,  if  you  need  him.  Oh, 
yes,  and  that  reminds  me — your  brother  Albert 
didn't  show  to  very  good  advantage  in  that  Con- 
vention. He  might  easily  have  made  a  better  be- 
ginning in  politics  than  that.  From  all  accounts  he 
had  the  Dearborn  County  delegates  in  his  pocket, 
and,  although  these  other  scandals  have  diverted 
attention  from  it,  I  think  the  way  they  ratted  over 
was  about  the  worst  thing  in  the  whole  affair." 

"  It  wasn't  nice,  for  a  fact,"  said  Seth. 

"  I  haven't  had  it  mentioned  in  the  paper,  mostly 
on  your  account.  But  I  am  not  so  clear  about  keep- 
ing silent  next  week,  when  the  Congressional  Con- 
vention comes  up.  Your  brother,  I  suppose,  has 
Dearborn  County  solid  for  his  own  candidacy.  But 
here  in  Adams  County  the  delegates  are  for  Ansdell 
— and  of  course  he  is  our  sort  of  man.  I  don't  think 
much  of  a  party  paper  interfering  before  the  nom- 
ination is  made,  but  this  may  be  a  case  where  it  will 
be  necessary — especially  if  Abe  Beekman,  up  in  Jay 


Bolting  the   Ticket.  199 

County,  tries  any  of  his  funny  work.  However,  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  cross  that  bridge  when  we 
get  to  it.  Meanwhile,  say  not  a  word  to  anybody, 
in  the  office  or  out  of  it,  about  what  has  happened. 
Just  go  ahead  with  the  work,  and  pay  attention  to 
no  one." 

There  was  no  scandal.  Mr.  Samboye  took  his 
punishment  quietly,  and  left  Tecumseh  shortly  after- 
ward, ostensibly  on  a  long  vacation.  There  was 
some  little  gossip,  but  no  whisper  of  the  actual  facts 
in  the  case. 

Seth  surprised  himself  by  the  excellence  and 
evenness  of  his  work  in  the  new  position.  Probably 
he  will  never  do  better  or  stronger  writing  than  he 
did  in  this  his  first  campaign.  For  one  thing,  it  is 
doubtful  if  any  political  contest  can  ever  again  ap- 
peal to  his  enthusiasm,  and  stir  all  his  emotions  to 
the  glowing  point  of  ardency,  as  this  one  did.  In  one 
sense  his  new  position  was  embarrassing,  for  a  num- 
ber of  the  old  time  readers  of  the  Chronicle  refused 
to  support  it  now  against  their  party,  and  some  of 
them  said  very  disagreeable  things  about  the  young- 
ster rattling  about  in  Samboye's  shoes.  But  there 
was  another  class,  a  larger  class  it  seemed  to  him, 
whp  shared  his  enthusiasm,  and,  in  their  excited  ad- 
miration for  the  course  of  the  paper,  heaped  praises 
upon  him  even  beyond  his  deserts.  So  he  worked 
on,  writing  almost  the  entire  page  daily,  coming 
down  early  in  the  morning  and  staying  long  after 
the  paper  was  out,  and  giving  scarcely  a  thought  to 
the  outside  world. 


200  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

He  had  barely  seen  Ansdell  since  his  promotion. 
He  felt  an  even  greater  sense  of  loss  in  this  than  he 
would  have  done  under  ordinary  circumstances,  for 
the  tremendous  mental  outpouring  to  which  he  was 
daily  subjected  made  him  almost  famished,  at  times, 
for  food  in  the  form  of  conversation  with  this  man 
who,  of  all  others,  most  sympathized  with  him. 

But  there  was  a  difficulty  in  the  way — of  which 
Seth's  sensitiveness  made,  no  doubt,  a  great  deal 
too  much.  The  fight  for  the  Congressional  nom- 
ination in  the  district  was  attracting  attention  all 
over  the  State,  and,  as  evil  luck  would  have  it, 
Seth's  brother  was  pitted  against  Seth's  dearest 
friend.  It  was  no  ordinary  contest,  in  which  a 
man  could  with  ease  maintain  a  friendly  neutrality. 
Everywhere  the  struggle  in  the  Thirty-sixth  District 
was  regarded  as  a  sample  conflict,  as  embodying 
in  itself  all  the  features  of  the  larger  issue  between 
the  machine  and  the  people.  Albert  Fairchild  had 
identified  himself  so  thoroughly  with  the  party  or- 
ganization, and  had  played  so  prominent  a  part  in 
the  scandals  which  provoked  the  revolt,  that  his 
cause  was  distinctly  that  of  the  politicians-;  while 
Ansdell  was  just  as  distinctively  the  representative 
of  the  independent  and  rebellious  element.  In  no 
other  district  of  the  State  were  the  lines  so  clearly 
drawn. 

It  was  a  fortnight  or  so  after  Seth's  assumption 
of  the  editorship  that  the  District  Convention  was 
held — at  the  little  village  of  Tyre,  some  dozen  miles 
from  Thessaly,  up  in  Jay  County.  The  Chronicle 


Bolting  the   Ticket.  201 

had  taken  no  part  in  the  contest.  No  one  doubted 
that  its  sympathies  were  with  Ansdell,  but  still  it 
had  not  said  so.  The  night  before  the  Convention 
Mr.  Workman  advised  Seth  to  write  to  his  brother, 
warning  him  that  if  he  were  nominated  the  Chronicle 
could  not  support  him. 

"  So  long  as  we  are  in  the  bolting  business,  we 
might  as  well  be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb," 
said  the  proprietor. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  task,  but  Seth  performed  it 
as  graciously  as  he  could. 

There  was  no  news  from  Tyre  next  day  save  that 
Mr.  Beekman  of  Jay  was  also  a  candidate,  and  that 
the  Convention  was  in  a  deadlock.  The  second  day, 
along  with  the  news  announcement  that  the  Con- 
vention, after  seventy-odd  fruitless  ballots,  had  ad- 
journed for  a  week,  came  a  despatch  from  Albert 
begging  Seth  to  visit  the  farm  for  a  couple  of  days, 
and  talk  the  thing  over,  before  the  Chronicle  took  ac- 
tion. Upon  consultation  with  Mr.  Workman  Seth 
replied  that  this  was  impossible,  owing  to  the  neces- 
sities of  his  work. 

Then  -there  came  a  letter  from  Albert,  brief,  but 
very  much  to  the  point. 

"  DEAR  BROTHER  :  I  am  sorry  if  your  work  must 
suffer  by  your  coming  to  me,  but  I  think  I  have  a 
claim  upon  you  superior  to  even  that  of  the  Chron- 
icle. If  I  have  not,  I  ought  to  have.  I  decline  to 
believe  that,  if  you  represent  the  matter  to  him  as 
really  imperative,  my  former  friend,  Mr.  Workman, 
will  place  any  obstacles  in  your  way.  But  if  he 


202  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

does  I  still  insist  that  your  choice  between  him  and 
me  must  be  a  final  one.  I  do  not  write  a  word  to 
you  about  gratitude.  I  simply  say,  be  here  at  the 
farm  on  Sunday — or  never  again. 

"  ALBERT." 

After  this  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  for  Seth 
to  telegraph  that  he  would  come. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   WELCOME. 

WHEN  Seth  walked  over  from  the  Thessaly  sta- 
tion, Sunday  forenoon,  to  the  farm,  he  was  not,  it 
may  be  imagined,  in  a  placid  frame  of  mind.  There 
lay  before  him  an  interview  with  his  brother  which 
could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be  pleasant,  and 
which  might  very  easily  be  distinctly  unpleasant. 
It  was  his  duty  to  say  sundry  things  to  Albert  which 
were  not  in  themselves  nice,  and  if  Albert  was  still 
in  the  mood  shown  forth  by  his  peremptory  letter, 
these  remarks  would  very  likely  produce  a  scene. 
Seth  was  in  no  sense  afraid  of  his  brother,  nor  had 
the  thrifty  thought  that  this  brother  was  a  rich, 
childless  man,  to  offend  whom  would  be  a  gratui- 
tous economic  blunder,  ever  entered  his  head.  The 
youngster  had  no  faculty  whatever  for  financial 
prudence.  But  he  was  grateful — almost  ridiculously 
grateful — by  nature.  The  trait  is  not  a  rare  one,  » 
even  in  these  days  when  a  new  civilization  has  sub- 
stituted for  individual  patronage  and  beneficence  the 
thanks-to-nobody  trade-unionism  of  universal  con- 
ceit and  rivalry,  but  it  was  abnormally  developed  in 
the  youngest  of  the  Fairchilds. 

He  said  to  himself,  as  he  crossed  the  fields  toward 


204  S*Ms  Brothers    Wife. 

the  white  and  red  land-mark  of  house  and  barns  on 
the  side  hill,  that  he  owed  everything  in  the  world 
to  this  brother.  Whatever  there  might  be  in  his 
public  attitude  to  condemn,  however  pernicious  his 
politics  might  be,  still  it  was  his  fraternal  feeling  and 
generosity  which  had  created  the  vast  gulf  between 
Seth  the  plow-yokel  and  Seth  the  editor.  These 
reflections  brought  no  comfort  to  the  young  man. 

Some  perverse  agency  whispered  to  him,  as  he 
strode  along  over  the  stubble,  that  after  all  he  had 
never  really  liked  Albert ;  and  this  liberality  of  his, 
too,  might  it  not  be  a  mere  cheap  mess  of  pottage, 
thrown  to  Seth  to  console  him  for  the  loss  of  his 
rights  in  the  farm  ?  John  had  always  been  incredu- 
lous as  to  Albert's  true  goodness  in  this  matter ; 
might  there  not  be  something  in  these  suspicions? 
Seth  tried  manfully  to  combat  these  ungenerous 
doubts,  but  they  forced  themselves  upon  his  mind. 

Then  there  was  Albert's  treatment  of  his  wife ! 
Seth  had  never  been  clear  as  to  the  exact  nature  of 
Isabel's  grievance  against  her  husband.  No  specific 
allegation  of  cruelty  or  neglect,  much  less  of  infi- 
delity, had  ever  been  laid  by  her  at  Albert's  door  in 
his  brother's  hearing.  Indeed,  so  far  as  Seth's  obser- 
vation went,  Albert  had  always  appeared  to  be  a 
decent  enough  sort  of  husband,  complaisant  even  if 
somewhat  indifferent,  and  acquiescent  to  the  verge 
of  weakness,  in  her  whims.  He  seemed  to  refuse 
her  nothing,  in  the  matter  of  having  her  own  way, 
and  if  he  most  often  broke  the  ruling  conjugal  dumb- 
ness by  satirical  comments  on  her  actions  and  opin- 


The   Welcome.  205 

ions,  he  at  least  never  seriously  attempted  to  fetter 
either.  This  sounded  like  the  description  of  a  tol- 
erable husband,  as  husbands  go.  But  up  against  it 
was  to  be  set  Isabel's  plaintive,  pitiful,  persistent  as- 
sertion of  unhappiness  with  him.  And  clearly  she 
ought  to  know  what  her  husband  was  like  a  good 
deal  better  than  an  outsider  could. 

So  the  arguments  did  battle  in  Seth's  mind,  as  he 
climbed  the  last  fence,  and  felt  his  feet  on  ancestral 
soil.  He  had  now  only  to  cross  a  short  stretch  of 
pasture  land  to  be  at  his  journey's  end. 

Perfect  silence  rested  on  the  farm.  The  fat  cows 
lay  lazily  about  him,  comfortably  chewing  the  cud 
of  sweet  aftermath  ;  the  cluster  of  bright,  neat  build- 
ings fell  into  picturesque  lines  of  composition  before 
him,  in  the  soft,  hazy  sunshine  of  Indian  summer. 
The  background  of  scarlet  and  ochre  and  deep  pur- 
ple-browns in  the  woods  beyond,  of  warm  mauve 
hills  and  pale,  fluffy  clouds  above ;  the  shaggy  old 
horse,  standing  in  tranquil  bliss,  with  his  head  over 
the  fence  ;  the  aged  shepherd-dog  stretched  asleep 
on  the  kitchen  door-stone  in  the  sunny  distance — all 
brought  to  him  a  sense  of  content  and  beauty  which 
warmed  his  heart  and  calmed  his  thoughts.  The 
spell  of  the  peaceful,  restful  scene  soothed  him. 
Then,  as  by  magic,  the  whole  picture  seemed  to  take 
on  the  charm  of  Isabel's  presence.  "  I  am  to  see 
her !  "  he  said  aloud,  almost  exultantly. 

There  had  been  no  special  pleasure  in  this  pros- 
pect, a  few  hours  before.  Indeed,  it  had  been  months 
since  he  had  been  conscious  of  a  genuine  desire  to 


206  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

meet  his  sister-in-law.  At  times  of  late  it  had  even 
seemed  to  him  that  a  meeting  would  be  a  source  of 
embarrassment,  just  as  the  necessity  of  keeping  up 
the  clandestine  correspondence  presented  itself  often 
to  him  in  the  light  of  a  bore. 

But  now — yes !  she  was  walking  forth  swiftly  to 
meet  him — coming  over  the  grass  with  a  gliding 
haste  which  had  a  wealth  of  welcome  in  every  mo- 
tion. The  very  genius  of  the  mellow,  warm-hearted 
season  she  seemed  to  his  eyes  as  she  advanced,  clad 
in  some  soft,  indefinite  stuff,  loose-flowing,  and  that 
in  tint  under  the  red  noon  sun  could  be  the  shadow 
on  golden  grain,  or  the  light  on  dark  puce  grapes,  or 
the  dim,  violet  haze  over  the  distant  valley.  She 
was  near  him  now,  beaming  with  unaffected  delight, 
reaching  out  her  hands  in  greeting — and  his  heart 
went  to  meet  her. 

"  Oh,  Seth !     How  good  of  you  to  come  ! " 

She  had  almost  thrown  herself  into  his  arms,  and 
had  stood  upon  tiptoe  to  be  kissed.  He  held  him- 
self back  from  the  embrace,  but  he  did  kiss  her,  and 
he  swung  her  hands  now  in  his,  looking  into  her 
glowing  eyes  with  tender,  responsive  intentness,  and 
smiling  his  joy.  This  reception  did  make  him  very 
happy,  but  he  had  also  a  great  uneasiness  lest  some 
of  the  folks  should  be  observing  them  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  house. 

She  divined  his  thoughts,  and  said,  gayly :  "  They 
are  all  at  church  !  " 

"What?  Albert  too?"  Seth  knew  that  his 
brother  was  not  of  a  religious  turn ;  but  he  swiftly 


The   Welcome.        '  207 

bethought  himself,  and  added  "Oh,  I  forgot  that 
election  is  coming  on." 

"  No,"  she  chirruped,  springing  along  by  his  side, 
her  arm  tight  in  his,  her  walk  reflecting  exultantly 
her  emotion,  "  he  is  in  New  York.  He  will  be  back 
to-morrow.  He  has  telegraphed  me  to  have  you 
wait."  She  dropped  into  a  mock-serious  tone :  "  That 
is,  of  course,  if  you  would  like  to  wait  ?  "  She  looked 
up  archly :  "  Do  you  much  mind  waiting  ?  " 

"  Do  I  mind  I  "  He  could  only  look  his  delight. 
His  voice  trembled. 

She  made  a  tiny  skip,  and  lifted  her  face  to  him 
again,  radiant  with  happiness.  "  Do  you  know," 
she  said,  "  I  could  run  and  jump  like  any  little  child, 
I  am  so  wild  with  joy !  It  seems  such  an  age  since 
we  were  together  last !  Only  letters — but  they  were 
very  nice,  though.  You  dear  boy,  who  taught  you 
to  write  such  pretty  letters ?  " 

He  pressed  her  arm  closer  in  his.  "  Who  taught 
me  everything  that  is  sweet  ?  "  he  whispered.  It  was 
all  very  delicious,  but  still  it  troubled  him. 

They  entered  the  house,  and  he  excused  himself 
while  he  took  his  hand-bag  up  to  his  old  room,  and 
made  his  toilet  after  the  long  hot  walk.  As  he  oc- 
cupied himself  thus,  and  brushed  his  novel  beard, 
his  thoughts  were  much  perturbed.  It  was  very  far 
from  his  ideas  to  make  love  to  his  brother's  wife. 
This  bald  statement  of  the  situation  which  framed 
itself  now  in  his  mind,  almost  for  the  first  time,  re- 
pelled and  alarmed  him.  Yet  it  seemed  to  sum  up 
the  state  of  affairs  fairly.  If  there  was  not  love- 


208  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

making  in  every  feature  of  that  meeting  out  on  the 
lawn,  then  his  conceptions  of  the  tender  passion 
were  all  at  fault. 

"  By  Jove,  it  mustn't  come  to  that  !  "  he  said  to 
himself.  "  A  fellow  ought  to  be  able  to  be  fond  of 
his  sister-in-law,  and  be  pleasant  to  her,  and  sym- 
pathize with  her  and  all  that,  without  going  beyond 
the  bounds,  and  making  a  scoundrel  of  himself." 

And  it  was  with  a  deep  resolution  to  be  careful, 
and  watch  all  his  words,  that  he  descended  the  stairs. 
He  had  taken  out  of  his  valise  two  front  pages  of  a 
Sunday  newspaper,  containing  "  Jeff  Brigg's  Love 
Story,"  which  he  had  saved  a  while  before  for  Isabel, 
and  he  gave  them  now  to  her. 

"  Here  is  something  I  cut  out  for  you,  Isabel ;  it 
is  a  very  pretty  story,  and  I  know  you  will  like  it." 

"Oh,  how  sweet  of  you!  How  well  you  know 
just  what  will  please  me  most  of  all !  And  you  shall 
read  it  to  me !  The  other  stories  you  have  sent  me 
were  only  moderately  nice,  because  I  had  to  read 
them  by  myself,  but  this — oh  !  this  will  be  enchant- 
ing! " 

She  arranged  an  easy  chair — a  low,  capacious  chair 
with  light  blue  the  dominant  color  in  its  covering — 
close  beside  the  window  in  the  parlor  which  over- 
looked the  poplars,  and  seated  herself  in  it.  Seth 
brought  a  hassock  for  her  feet,  and  then  put  his  own 
chair  along  side,  where  he  could  see  her,  and  still 
get  a  good  light  on  the  print.  It  was  not  easy  for 
him  to  begin  the  reading,  so  great  was  the  fasci- 
nation of  looking  at  his  companion.  The  sunlight 


The   Welcome.  209 

flared  upon  the  white  curtains  above  her,  and  its  re- 
flections glowed  back  again  from  her  crown  of  gold- 
en braids,  luminous  against  the  azure  of  the  chair, 
and  tipped  with  soft  radiance  her  rounded  profile,  in 
cameo-relief  against  the  deep  olive  of  the  poplars. 
Isabel  was  an  artist. 

He  made  a  beginning  at  last,  and  read  until  the 
democrat-wagon  drove  up  in  the  yard,  with  its  load 
of  church-goers.  She  made  a  little  mouth  at  the 
interruption. 

"  I  suppose  Sabrina  will  come  in  now,  and  dinner 
will  be  ready  soon.  But  afterwards  we  can  be  .quiet 
again,  for  she  always  reads  the  Bible  in  her  own  room 
Sunday  afternoons." 

All  through  the  cold  dinner,  despite  the  necessity 
of  answering  Aunt  Sabrina's  and  Milton's  remarks, 
Seth  found  his  mental  vision  fixed  on  that  beauti- 
ful profile  against  the  leafy  background ;  especially 
sweet  was  the  portrait  when  the  eyes  were  closed, 
and  the  lovely  fullness  above  the  lids,  as  in  the 
face  of  a  Madonna,  was  revealed  in  the  wavering 
light. 

The  story  was  not  to  be  finished  that  afternoon, 
for  Elhanan  Pratt  and  his  daughter  dropped  in 
almost  before  the  meal  was  finished,  and  a  little 
later  Annie  Fairchild  came.  There  was  not  even 
much  consolation  in  the  pretty  grimaces  expressive 
of  discontent  which  Isabel  from  time  to  time,  when 
the  visitors  were  not  looking,  confided  to  Seth.  It 
was  a  very  dull  afternoon. 

The  venerable  Mr.  Pratt,  a  weazen,  verbose  little 
14 


210  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

"  gentleman-farmer,"  who  wore  a  huge  black  satm 
stock  over  his  high  flaring  collar  opening  behind, 
and  remained  clean-shaven,  in  pious  memory  of 
Henry  Clay  and  the  coon  campaign,  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  chair  and  droned  commonplaces  by  the 
hour.  He  evidently  had  an  axe  to  grind  by  his 
visit,  and  he  was  much  disappointed  by  Albert's  ab- 
sence. But  if  he  could  not  see  "  the  coming  Con- 
gressman," as  he  called  him  once  or  twice,  and 
sound  that  new  political  magnate  as  to  his  own 
renomination  for  the  Assembly,  he  could  at  least  en- 
joy the  monopoly  of  a  long  conversation  with  the 
Editor  of  the  Tecumseh  Chronicle,  and  impress  that 
young  man  with  the  breadth  and  value  of  his  views. 
So  Seth  was  forced  to  spend  three  dreary  hours, 
answering  as  briefly  as  might  be,  listening  wearily, 
and  stealing  stray  glances  at  the  three  young  women, 
who  made  a  brighter  group  on  the  other  side  of  the 
parlor  stove.  Once  or  twice  he  tried  tentatively 
to  engraft  himself  upon  their  conversation,  and 
choke  old  Elhanan  off,  but  the  solemn  little  bore 
relentlessly  brought  him  back  to  the  dry  bones  of 
politics.  Thus  it  happened  that  he  had  barely  had 
an  opportunity  of  exchanging  a  word  with  his  cou- 
sin Annie,  when  she  stood  up  and  said,  "  I  must  be 
going." 

He  walked  over  to  her  now,  and  put  his  hand  in 
a  brotherly  way  on  her  shoulder,  as  he  helped  her 
on  with  her  cloak. 

"  I've  scarcely  had  a  word  with  you,  Annie,"  he 
said,  smiling.  "  How  is  your  grandmother  ?  I 


The   Welcome.  2 1 1 

needn't  ask  how  you  are.  You  grow  prettier  every 
day.  And  how  do  you  get  on  with  your  school  ?  " 
— for  the  girl  was  now  teaching  in  the  district  school 
house  over  the  hill. 

She  answered,  "  Oh,  grandmother  is  about  the 
same  ;  perhaps  a  little  weaker,  but  as  bright  men- 
tally as  ever.  You  are  looking  well,  Seth,  and  quite 
the  man  now.  Your  beard  becomes  you — doesn't  it, 
Isabel  ?  We  are  so  sorry  you  can't  come  to-morrow 
night.  We  see  so  little  of  you  since  you  have  be- 
come a  city  man." 

"  Sorry  that  I  can't  come !  "  repeated  Seth  after 
her.  "  Come  where  ?  " 

Isabel  interposed  with  a  ready  explanation. 
"There  is  to  be  a  husking  over  at  Crump's  to-mor- 
row evening — the  first  of  the  season.  There  will  be 
a  big  party  of  young  people,  and  Crump  sent  over 
by  Annie  an  invitation  for  us.  But  I  have  explained 
that  you  are  here  on  business,  which  may  very  like- 
ly occupy  you  to-morrow  evening,  and  that  in  any 
case  you  would  have  to  write  your  leaders  for  the 
next  day's  paper.  We  are  ever  so  sorry,  Annie,"  she 
added,  turning  to  the  school-teacher  now,  "  but  you 
know  this  is  a  terribly  busy  time  with  Seth,  and  we 
mustn't  think  of  letting  our  little  country  sociables 
interfere  with  his  work.  Some  time,  soon,  he  will 
come  for  a  real  vacation,  instead  of  a  flying  business 
trip,  and  then  we  can  monopolize  him — and  we  will, 
too,  won't  we,  Annie  ?  " 

Annie  smiled,  a  little  faintly,  as  if  her  heart  were 
not  altogether  in  it,  and  replied,  "  Yes,  to  be  sure 


212  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

we  will."  She  added,  to  Seth,  "  I  won't  say  good- 
bye. I  suppose  I  shall  see  you  again." 

He  assented,  and  went  to  the  door  with  her,  and 
stood  on  the  steps  watching  her  as  she  walked  away 
in  the  autumn  dusk.  Decidedly  she  was  a  pretty 
girl! 

The  Pratts,  father  and  daughter,  consented  upon 
the  shadowiest  suggestion  of  an  invitation  to  stay 
and  partake  of  the  picked-up  Sunday  tea,  and  that 
involved  their  spending  the  evening.  Aunt  Sabrina 
came  in,  and  the  talk  was  dreary  and  general.  So 
"  Jeff  Briggs  "  and  his  amatory  affairs  went  over  to 
the  morrow. 

In  the  morning  Seth  walked  over  to  Thessaly  and 
saw  John.  The  interview  depressed  him.  John 
had  had  some  idea  of  following  the  Chronicle 's  lead, 
and  bolting  the  State  ticket,  but  the  county  politi- 
cians had  bullied  him  out  of  the  thing  by  threaten- 
ing the  destruction  of  the  job-printing  business 
connected  with  the  Banner  of  Liberty,  and  the  boy- 
cotting of  the  paper  itself.  All  his  inclinations,  too, 
were  toward  Ansdell  in  the  Congressional  race ;  but 
Albert  had  loaned  him  some  money,  and,  beside,  he 
couldn't  see  his  way  clear  to  disregarding,  openly  at 
least,  the  fraternal  tie.  He  was  consequently  in  a 
savage  mood. 

"  I'm  thinking  of  taking  out  the  head-line  of  the 
paper  this  week,"  he  growled,  with  a  sardonic  humor, 
"  and  putting  in  instead  a  cut  of  a  runaway  slave, 
with  a  bundle  over  his  shoulder,  which  is  in  the  job- 
room  here,  left  over  from  the  days  when  there  was 


The  Welcome.  213 

slavery  in  New  York  State,  and  masters  used  to  ad- 
vertise in  the  old  paper  for  fugitives.  '  Banner  of 
Liberty  '  indeed  !  By  heaven,  it  ought  to  be  '  Ban- 
ner of  Bondage '/" 

There  was  no  comfort  or  profit  in  discussing  the 
situation,  either  general  or  local,  with  John.  He 
neither  knew  nor  cared,  he  swore,  what  Albert's 
chances  were  to  dissolve  the  deadlock  on  the  morrow. 
He  might  or  he  mightn't ;  it  was  all  one  to  him,  and 
apparently  to  the  party,  who  were  the ! 

Seth  left  John  to  his  bad  temper  and  language, 
and  returned  to  the  farm  in  the  afternoon.  A  tele- 
gram from  Albert  awaited  him. 

"  New  York,  Oct.  19. — If  possible  conclude  busi- 
ness, home  to-night,  at  latest  to-morrow  morning. 
Wait  for  me  at  all  hazards. — ALBERT." 

To  provide  against  a  possible  delay  over  Tuesday, 
Seth  devoted  the  afternoon,  and  the  earlier  part  of 
the  evening,  to  writing  matter  for  his  paper,  which 
Dana  was  to  convey  to  Thessaly  for  the  early 
morning  train,  when  he  went  to  the  cheese-factory. 
If  Albert  was  coming  at  all  that  night,  he  would 
arrive  about  eight. 

Nine  o'clock  came.  Aunt  Sabrina,  after  sitting  in 
stern  silence  by  the  living-room  stove  for  an  hour  or 
two,  looking  at  the  wall-paper  as  her  brother  Lemuel 
had  been  won't  to  do,  went  up  to  bed  with  a  frigid 
"  good  night."  The  farm  people  had  all  retired  with 
the  chickens,  long  before. 

Scarcely  raising  his  eyes  from  his  writing,  Seth 
remarked : 


214  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

'  How  Aunt  Sabrina  has  failed  since  I  left  the 
farm !  She  grows  ever  so  much  like  father.  Poor 
old  woman,  she  was  so  eager  to  have  Albert  come 
here,  so  elated  with  the  idea  that  the  family  was 
to  be  restored  to  social  and  political  dignity  again 
— and  now  the  apples  seem  to  be  all  dead-sea  fruit 
to  her.  I  can't  see  that  she  takes  the  slightest  in- 
terest in  Albert's  campaign.  Odd,  isn't  it?" 

Isabel  was  sitting  near  the  stove,  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  table  from  him.  The  reddish  radiance 
reflected  down  from  the  shaded  lamp  fell  upon  her 
rounded  chin  and  her  smooth  white  neck,  dainty  in 
tint  as  the  ruffle  in  which  it  lost  itself.  Above  this 
lace  at  the  back,  as  she  bent  over  her  embroidery, 
some  stray  curling  wisps  of  hair  gleamed  like  gold 
in  the  light.  She  replied : 

"  It  isn't  that  at  all.  She's  interested  enough  in 
the  Congress  idea,  or  would  be  if  she  hadn't  some- 
thing else  on  her  mind.  The  prying  old  piece  found 
out,  by  quizzing  Dana,  about  our  writing  to  each 
other.  She  has  got  it  into  her  ridiculous  old  head, 
I  feel  sure,  that  there  is  something  between  us. 
Didn't  you  notice  the  way  she  eyed  us  at  the  dinner 
table  yesterday  ?  " 

Seth  did  not  answer.  His  article  was  unfinished, 
but  he  suddenly  found  himself  in  doubt  whether  it 
was  not  already  long  enough.  He  reflected,  or  tried 
to  reflect,  for  a  moment,  while  the  soft  tones  of  her 
voice  murmured  in  his  ears,  then  added  a  sentence 
which  might  serve  as  a  conclusion,  and  scrawled  a 
dash  underneath. 


The   Welcome.  215 

"  There  !     I'm  through  ! "  he  said,  and  looked  up. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  face.  They  were 
in  the  shadow  of  the  tinted  lamp-shade,  but  they 
had  a  light  of  their  own — a  languorous,  alluring 
glow.  He  had  never  looked  into  such  eyes  before ; 
they  fascinated  him,  and  he  knew,  in  a  delicious 
trembling,  that  his  own  were  answering  them  in 
kind. 

"  You  can  read  to  me  now,"  she  said,  the  rapt, 
wistful  gaze  melting  into  a  smile.  "He  will  not 
come  to-night." 

Seth  took  the  story,  as  she  gave  it  to  him  from 
her  workbox,  and  glanced  over  it  to  pick  up  the 
thread  of  the  narrative  where  it  had  been  dropped. 
As  he  was  still  thus  engaged,  he  felt  her  hand  laid 
upon  his,  and,  as  their  eyes  met  again,  heard  her  low, 
soft  voice  murmur : 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  declined  our  invitation  for 
the  husking?" 

There  was  a  silence,  which  the  young  man  felt 
that  his  face  made  full  of  acquiescent  meaning. 

She  answered  her  own  question  :  "  I  wanted  you 
here,  all  for  myself." 

Seth  lost  himself  in  an  uplifting,  floating  sensation 
of  ethereal  beatitude.  Her  hand  was  in  his  now, 
warm  and  palpitating,  and  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
It  was  difficult  to  breathe,  but  the  oppression  in  his 
breast  was  all  delight.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  his  arms 
outstretched,  his  heart  beating  in  exultant  tumult. 
He  heard  her  whisper — he  could  scarcely  see  her  for 
the  magnetic  waving  before  his  eyes — the  refrain  of 


216  Set/is  Brother's    Wife. 

the  story  :  "  So  strong  and  yet  so  gentle  !"  His  lips 
were  formed  for  the  passionate  utterance — already 
framed  in  his  heart — "My  darling!"  when  there 
came  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  path  without, 
and  of  a  hand  upon  the  latch. 

Seth  mechanically  took  up  the  manuscript  of  his 
article,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  Beneath  an 
impassive  mien,  far  more  composed  than  he  dared 
to  hope,  there  was  the  sensation  of  being  hurled 
down,  down,  through  the  air,  to  unwelcome  earth. 

It  was  Albert.  He  looked  at  the  two  cursorily 
but  closely,  and  only  said,  as  he  tossed  his  bag  into 
a  chair : 

"  Train  was  late.  You  go  to  bed  at  once,  Isabel. 
I  have  particular  business  with  Seth." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  NIGHT:  THE  BROTHERS. 

ALBERT  seemed  in  an  amiable  mood  as,  divesting 
himself  of  his  outer  garments,  he  drew  up  a  chair 
by  the  fire,  offered  Seth  a  cigar  from  his  case 
and  lighted  one  himself.  He  examined  Seth's  face 
by  the  flame  of  the  match,  as  the  latter  lighted  his 
cigar,  and  appeared  to  be  satisfied  with  the  inspec- 
tion. 

"  Sit  down  here,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  I  want  a 
good  long  talk  with  you.  It  was  too  bad  to  keep 
you  waiting  so  long,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
I  couldn't  seethe  people  in  New  York  that  I  wanted 
to  see  until  to-day,  and  it  was  only  by  good  fortune 
that  I  caught  the  train  as  it  was.  Then  we  were 
delayed  on  the  road,  of  course.  If  an  engineer  on 
this  one-horse  line  should  ever  get  a  train  through 
on  time  I  believe  he'd  have  a  fit,  just  from  the  shock 
of  the  thing.  And  then  I  had  to  wake  up  the  man 
at  the  livery  stable  in  Thessaly — fancy  his  being 
asleep  at  eight  o'clock ! — and  he  would  only  bring 
me  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  hill,  because  he  had 
been  up  to  a  dance  all  the  previous  night.  But  of 
course,  in  my  position  now,  running  for  office,  I 
couldn't  complain.  Beside,  I  ought  to  be  used  to 


2i8  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

all  these  little  delights  of  rural  existence  by  this 
time." 

Albert  stretched  his  feet  out  comfortably  on  the 
rail  of  the  stove,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with 
an  air  of  enjoyment.  He  had  been  growing  very 
stout  this  past  year,  Seth  noticed,  and  the  bald  spot 
on  his  crown  had  visibly  spread.  He  seemed  un- 
wontedly  good-natured  too — a  natural  and  proper 
accompaniment  to  increasing  obesity. 

"  But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  asking 
you  to  come  here,  has  it  ?  Did  Workman  raise  any 
objections  to  your  coming  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not,  after  he  read  your  letter." 

The  lawyer  smiled  complacently :  "  I  thought 
that  letter  would  fetch  him.  Of  course,  my  boy, 
the  harshness  of  the  letter  was  for  effect  on  him, 
not  on  you.  It  simply  gave  you  a  chance  to  say 
you  had  got  to  come." 

Seth  did  not  find  himself  wholly  clear  on  this 
point,  but  he  nodded  assent.  Albert  looked  at 
him,  and  seemed  a  trifle  annoyed  at  having  the  con- 
versation all  to  himself,  but  he  went  on  after  a 
moment's  pause,  speaking  now  with  good  humored 
gravity  : 

"  First  of  all,  I  ought  to  tell  you  how  proud  I 
have  been  of  your  fine  progress  on  the  Chronicle.  I 
doubt  if  there  is  another  young  man  of  your  age  in 
the  State  who  has  done  so  much  climbing  in  so 
short  a  time.  I  take  a  real  satisfaction  in  thinking 
that  you  are  my  brother.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
often  I  say  to  myself :  '  Albert  Fairchild,  the  best 


The  Night:  the  Brothers.  219 

thing  you  ever  did  in  your  life,  or  ever  will  do, 
was  to  give  that  boy  a  chance.'  " 

This  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  the  young  man. 
He  had  almost  succeeded  in  regaining  the  compos- 
ure so  abruptly  scattered  by  Albert's  unexpected 
arrival.  The  fluttering  agitation  came  back  now, 
and  brought  with  it  a  painful  sense  of  shame  and 
self-reproach  as  Albert's  words  recalled  the  scene 
which  his  entrance  had  interrupted.  Seth  did  not 
look  his  brother  in  the  face,  but  murmured  some 
commonplace  of  gratitude.  He  was  glad  that  there 
was  a  red  shade  on  the  lamp ;  it  might  conceal  his 
flush  of  humiliation. 

Albert  went  on :  "  But  you  were  not  invited  here 
so  peremptorily  just  to  hear  this.  Brotherly  pride 
and  affection  are  things  that  don't  need  words — 
that  can  be  taken  for  granted — are  they  not  ?  " 

Seth  tried  to  smile,  and  said,  "  Yes,  of  course  they 
are." 

"  Well,  youngster,  I  am  taking  them  for  granted 
in  your  case.  Mind,  as  I  said  in  my  letter,  I  am  not 
saying  a  word  about  gratitude.  I  don't  want  the 
thing  to  be  put  on  that  footing  at  all.  Brothers 
ought  to  be  able  to  help  each  other,  and  all  that, 
without  lugging  in  the  question  of  gratitude.  I  am 
talking  to  you  as  one  man  should  to  another  who 
bears  the  same  name,  and  was  of  the  same  mother. 
By  George !  poetry,  isn't  it  ?  Well,  the  point  is 
this.  The  time  has  come  when  you  can  help  me, 
help  me  immensely.  I  am  not  in  this  fight  for  my- 
self alone.  Personally  I  care  very  little  about  going 


220  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

to  Congress.  But  I  have  got  the  family  to  consider, 
and  I  am  in  a  position  now  where  I  can  make  a  ten- 
strike  for  it.  A  good  deal  of  it  I  have  created  my- 
self. These  countrymen  up  here  in  Dearborn  County 
fancy  they  are  shrewd  politicians,  but  it  has  taken 
me,  almost  a  novice  in  politics,  less  than  two  years 
to  get  the  whole  machinery  right  under  my  thumb. 
It's  in  the  blood,  I  tell  you  !  There  wasn't  another 
manager  in  this  whole  section  that  could  hold  a 
candle  to  the  old  Senator,  in  his  day, — and  if  he 
could  keep  track  of  things  now  I  imagine  he'd  admit 
that  his  grandson  was  no  slouch." 

Albert  chuckled  quietly  at  the  slang  word,  the  ex- 
pressiveness of  which  pleased  him,  and  at  the  vision 
of  the  satisfaction  of  the  departed  ancestor  which  it 
suggested.  He  proceeded : 

"  I  can't  tell  you  all  my  plans,  but  I  am  in  a  big 
combination.  I  have  made  use  of  my  large  connec- 
tions as  a  lawyer  in  New  York  to  arrange  some 
things  which  would  open  your  eyes  if  you  knew 
them.  It  is  all  settled  that  I  am  going  on  to  a  Com- 
mittee which  will  be  worth  while,  I  can  tell  you. 
And  then,  once  started  in  the  thing,  with  my  grand- 
father's name  back  of  me,  there  is  no  telling  where 
•  I  may  not  climb.  A  name  that  has  figured  in  the 
blue  book  as  ours  has  is  a  tremendous  power.  The 
Republic  derides  heredity,  but  the  public  believes  in 
it.  It  is  human  nature,  my  boy.  And  in  this  reha- 
bilitation of  the  family  name  you  have  as  much  con- 
cern as  I  have — in  fact  more  than  I  have— for  you 
will  enjoy  even  more  than  I  shall  the  fame  and 


The  Night:  the  Brothers.  221 

wealth  I  am  going  to  get  out  of  this  thing,  for  the 
family." 

"  Where  does  the  wealth  come  in,  Albert  ?  There 
is  no  money  honestly  to  be  made  in  politics."  Seth 
had  forgotten  his  earlier  embarrassment  now,  and 
the  spirit  of  dispute  was  rising  within  him. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  elder  brother,  com- 
fortably contemplating  the  rings  of  cigar  smoke  he 
was  making,  "  to  the  wise  there  is  money  every- 
where. The  word  '  honesty  '  in  politics  is  a  purely 
relative  term,  just  as  it  is  in  your  line,  or  in  law,  or 
in  medicine.  If  we  lawyers  strictly  graded  our 
charges  by  the  net  value  of  our  services  to  our  clients, 
if  doctors  refused  to  make  all  calls  upon  patients 
that  were  not  altogether  necessary,  and  based  their 
bills  rigidly  upon  the  actual  good  they  had  done — 
by  George !  the  poor-houses  would  have  to  be  en- 
larged. Take  your  own  business,  for  instance,  or  I 
ought  to  call  it  a  profession,  too,  I  suppose.  Are 
editors  invariably  candid  with  their  readers,  do  you 
think?  Do  they  always  tell  the  disagreeable  truth 
about  people  they  make  their  money  from  ?  And 
don't  they  have  an  open  hand  behind  the  back  about 
the  same  as  other  folks  do?  Occasionally,  I  admit, 
an  ass  like  our  brother  John  does  drift  into  the  pro- 
fession, and  retains  his  childhood  belief  that  the 
moon  is  made  of  green  cheese.  But  I  have  noticed 
that  such  fellows  as  he,  who  run  their  papers  on  an 
exalted  moral  plane,  generally  come  around  to  bor- 
row money  from  the  ungodly,  toward  the  close  of 
the  year,  to  make  their  accounts  balance.  I  am 


222  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

sorry  to  see  that  John  and  Ansdell  have  filled  your 
head  with  all  this  nonsense.  A  newspaper  man 
tearing  his  shirt  in  defense  of  financial  fastidiousness 
in  politics  presents  rather  a  comical  spectacle,  if  you 
only  knew  it." 

"  You  have  no  right  at  all  to  say  that ! "  Seth 
answered  hotly.  "  I  believe  firmly  that  the  news- 
paper men  of  this  country,  considering  their  influence 
and  the  great  temptation  to  make  money  out  of  it, 
are  as  honest  a  body  of  men  as  you  can  find  in 
America.  This  conventional  talk  about  their  venal- 
ity is  the  cruellest  kind  of  libel,  and  if  you  knew 
them  as  I  do  you  wouldn't  lend  yourself  to  circulat- 
ing it." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  entirely  without  acquaintance  in 
this  white-winged  profession  of  yours,"  replied  the 
lawyer,  smilingly.  "  I  know  Mr.  Mortimer  Samboye, 
for  example.  I  could  tell  you  too,  you  confiding 
youngster,  just  his  figure,  and  where  the  cheque, 
made  payable  to  his  wife,  was  cashed." 

"  If  you  do  know  about  Samboye,  you  know  what 
I  believe  to  be  the  one  exception  to  the  rule  in  the 
State.  I  don't  for  a  moment  believe  that  there  is 
another  editor  whom  your  people  could  have  bought. 
It  is  an  odious  exception,  to  be  sure,  but  exceptions 
prove  the  rule.  If  journalists  and  journals  were  in 
the  market,  as  you  and  your  machine  friends  seem 
to  imagine,  there  would  be  no  such  widespread  bolt 
against  your  machine  ticket  to-day." 

"Oh,  you  think  so,  do  you?" 

The   lawyer  was  getting  vexed.     He  stood  up, 


The  Night:  the  Brothers.  223 

thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  trowsers  pockets,  and 
spoke  with  more  sharpness  than  before. 

"You  think  so  !  Why,  man  alive,  this  same  d — d 
Chronicle  of  yours  has  been  in  the  market  since  be- 
fore you  were  born.  I  bet  you  to-day  that  Work- 
man would  rather  plank  out  five  thousand  dollars 
from  his  own  pocket  than  let  me  cross-examine  him 
in  the  witness  box  on  his  recollections  of  the  Chroni- 
cle s  record.  Why,  that  is  the  very  last  paper  in  the 
State  that  has  a  title  to  throw  stones  !  Do  you  want 
to  know  when  this  new  reforming  zeal  of  Workman's 
was  born  ?  I  can  tell  you.  It  was  the  day  that 
another  man  (Dick  Folts,  if  you  wish  names),  was 
appointed  to  the  Territorial  Governorship  that  Work- 
man wanted  for  his  brother.  So  you  thought  it  was 
only  high  morality  and  noble  patriotic  sentiments 
that  ailed  the  Chronicle,  did  you  ?  You  never  sus- 
pected that  it  was  simply  a  bad  case  of  brother — 
that  it  all  happened  because  Samuel  M.  Workman 
of  Toboggan  was  compelled  to  continue  to  adorn  a 
private  station  ?  You  think  the  world  is  run  on  kid- 
gloved,  scriptural  ethics  ?  It  reminds  me  of  a  novel 
I  read  here  awhile  ago.  It  set  out  to  describe  An 
American  Politician — and  in  almost  every  scene  in 
the  book  where  he  appeared,  he  was  drinking  tea  in 
some  lady's  drawing  room,  declaiming  to  the  fair  sex 
on  how  he  was  going  to  reform  politics.  He  thought 
he  was  a  deuce  of  a  fellow,  and  so  did  the  women 
and  the  author  too.  This  politician  was  a  good 
sample  of  all  your  reformers.  I  tell  you,  the  men 
who  go  to  afternoon  teas  in  America,  exert  no  more 


224  Settis  Brother  s   Wife. 

influence  on  American  politics  than — than  a  hen 
who  was  too  refined  to  scratch  in  the  barn-yard  for 
worms  would  exert  on  the  question  of  female  suf- 
frage. Now  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  Seth. 
Your  predecessor,  Samboye,  was  in  no  way  your  equal 
— some  fellow  at  the  club  once,  I  remember,  just 
hit  him  off  in  a  phrase  which  he  had  hunted  up  in 
the  dictionary  to  sling  at  him :  '  a  nugipolyloquous 
numbskull ' — but  he  knew  enough  to  feather  his  own 
nest,  and  to  take  men  as  they  are,  and  not  as  the 
Prophet  Jeremiah  might  think  they  ought  to  be. 
Dont  make  me  angry  with  this  pharisaical  nonsense  ! 
You  are  very  young  yet.  You  will  see  things  differ- 
ently when  you  have  rubbed  up  against  the  world 
a  while  longer." 

Seth  also  stood  up  now,  with  his  hands  deep  in 
his  pockets — a  trick  of  all  the  Fairchilds  when  they 
were  excited. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  make  you  angry,"  he  an- 
swered, beginning  with  an  .effort  at  calmness,  but 
soon  raising  his  voice,  "  and  I  shouldn't  have 
dreamed  of  inflicting  my  juvenile  views  on  you  if 
you  hadn't  insisted,  even  to  the  point  of  a  threat, 
on  my  coming  here.  I  would  rather  not  argue  the 
thing  at  all.  We  regard  politics  from  totally  dif- 
ferent standpoints.  I  believe  that  your  methods 
and  aims — by  *  your '  I  mean  your  wing  of  the 
party — are  scandalous,  corrupting  and  ruinous.  I 
believe  that  if  some  check  is  not  put  upon  the  rule 
of  the  machine,  if  the  drift  of  public  acquiescence 
in  debased  processes  of  government  is  not  stopped, 


The  Night:  the  Brot tiers.  225 

it  will  soon  be  too  late  to  save  even  the  form  of  our 
institutions  from  the  dry  rot  of  venality." 

14  Seems  to  me  I've  read  all  this.  Don't  work 
your  old  leaders  off  on  me.  Talk  sense ! "  said 
Albert. 

Seth  dropped  rhetoric :  "  All  this  is  very  real, 
very  big,  to  me.  To  you  it  is  impracticable  and 
meaningless.  You  don't  at  all  believe  in  the  dan- 
gers which  are  so  apparent  to  me.  Perhaps  if  you 
did  you  wouldn't  care.  That  is  all  right.  I  have 
no  desire  to  convert  you,  or  to  debate  the  question 
with  you.  I  simply  want  to  explain  that  there  is 
no  community  of  premises,  even,  between  us  on 
this  subject.  As  for  your  explanation  of  the  mo- 
tives underlying  the  Chronicle's  attitude,  I  shan't 
contradict  you.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the 
matter  is  not  in  argument.  It  is  enough  for  me 
that  we  bolt  the  State  ticket,  and  occupy  the 
ground  we  do.  It  is  no  concern  of  mine  by  what  y 
path  we  got  there." 

Albert  had  heard  his  brother  through  with  con- 
temptuous impatience.  He  said  now,  with  one  foot 
on  the  stove  hearth,  and  in  a  voice  which,  by  its 
very  coldness  of  calm,  ought  to  have  warned  Seth 
of  the  temper  underlying  it : 

"  You  may  bolt  the  State  ticket  as  much  as  you 
d — d  please.  I  don't  like  your  doing  it,  and  it  will 
injure  you  more  than  any  efforts  of  mine  can  make 
good,  but  I  can't  help  it,  and  it  wasn't  for  that  that 
I  wanted  to  see  you.  But  if  you  bolt  me,  Mr.  Seth,  -. 
or  put  so  much  as  a  straw  in  my  path,  by  God  ! 
15 


226  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

I'll  grind  you,  and  your  paper,  and  everybody  re- 
sponsible for  it,  finer  than  tooth-powder !  How- 
ever— we  will  exhaust  the  other  side  of  the  subject 
first.  I've  had  it  in  mind  for  a  long  while,  in  fact 
ever  since  I  first  procured  you  a  place  there,  to  buy 
you  a  share  in  the  Chronicle.  Workman  would  be 
glad  of  the  ready  money — he  itches  for  it  as  much 
as  any  living  man — and  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
for  you.  Would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  You  haven't  told  me  yet  what  you  dragged  me 
up  here,  away  from  my  work,  for,"  said  Seth.  "  You 
presumably  had  an  object  of  some  sort." 

"  Ah,  you  want  to  get  down  to  business,  do  you  ? 
You  shall  have  it,  in  a  nutshell.  I  want  you  to  see 
Ansdell,  and  get  him  to  promise  that  if  I  beat  him 
in  the  Convention  he  will  support  me  squarely  at 
the  polls ;  I  want  you  to  get  a  pledge  from  Work- 
man that  the  Chronicle  will  come  out  for  me,  solid, 
the  day  after  I  am  nominated.  That's  what  I  want, 
and  it  is  mighty  little  for  me  to  ask  of  you  !  And 
you  may  tell  Workman  for  me  that  if  he  and  his 
paper  give  me  the  smallest  ground  for  complaint, 
and  waver  in  the  least  in  backing  me  up,  I'll  start  a 
paper  in  Tecumseh  before  Christmas  that  will  crush 
the  Chronicle  out  of  sight.  The  paper  is  no  good, 
anyway.  I  know  hundreds  of  good  citizens  who 
would  rejoice  to  have  a  decent  substitute  for  it." 

The  pride  of  the  editor  was  wounded.  "  You 
seem  to  worry  a  good  deal  about  this  worthless 
paper,  at  all  events,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

"  Don't  bandy  words  with  me,  youngster !  "  cried 


The  Night:  the  Brothers.  227 

Albert,  scowling  and  pacing  the  floor.  "  I  want 
your  answer,  or  the  answer  of  your  employer — yes 
or  no  !  I'll  have  none  of  your  impudence  !  " 

Seth  held  his  temper  down.  He  could  not  help 
feeling  that  his  brother,  from  the  fraternal  stand- 
point at  least,  had  some  pretty  strong  arguments 
on  his  side.  He  made  answer : 

"  I  should  have  no  influence  with  Ansdell,  one 
way  or  the  other,  even  if  I  talked  with  him.  He 
knows  his  own  business  best,  and  if  he  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  a  certain  course,  nothing  that  I  could 
say  would  move  him.  As  for  the  Chronicle,  we've 
kept  our  hands  off,  thus  far,  on  your  account,  and 
we've  said  nothing  at  all  about  your  leading  the 
Dearborn  County  delegates  into  the  machine  camp 
at  the  State  Convention,  although  the  whole  rest  of 
the  State  is  ringing  with  it.  But  I  am  charged  to 
say  that  that  is  as  much  as  we  can  do.  If  you  are 
nominated,  we  can't  and  won't  support  you.  It  is 
not  a  nice  thing  for  me  to  have  to  say  to  you,  but 
there's  no  good  mincing  matters.  Besides,  you 
know — there  may  be  a  way  out  of  it ;  you  may  not 
be  nominated  to-morrow." 

"  All  hell  can't  prevent  it !  "  The  words  came 
forth  in  an  explosion  of  wrath.  Albert  stamped 
his  foot  and  clenched  his  fists  as  Seth  had  never 
seen  him  do  before.  He  tapped  his  breast  three  or 
four  times,  significantly,  as  if  there  were  something 
in  the  pocket  to  which  he  was  referring — Seth  re- 
membered the  gesture  long  afterward — and  repeated 
that  his  nomination  was  assured.  He  seemed  to 


228  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

dislike  his  passion,  and  strive  to  restrain  it,  but  the 
choleric  vein  between  his  brows  grew  more  swollen, 
and  his  black,  keen  eyes  flashed  more  angrily  than 
ever,  as  he  strode  up  and  down  before  the  stove. 

"Yes,  and  I'll  be  elected  too!  All  the  white- 
livered  hounds  in  Adams  County,  from  my  own 
brother  up,  shall  not  stop  me  !  I'll  stump  the  dis- 
,trict  every  night  and  day  till  election.  I'll  speak  in 
Tecumseh — yes,  in  Tecumseh,  at  the  biggest  meet- 
ing money  and  organisation  can  get  together — and 
I'll  handle  this  whole  bolting  business  so's  to  warm 
the  hearts  of  honest  men  all  over  the  State.  By 
God !  I'll  shake  Workman  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat, 
in  view  and  hearing  of  his  whole  community  !  Won't 
he  squirm  though !  And  won't  the  crowd  enjoy 
having  him  shown  up  !  And  you  " — there  followed 
some  savage  personal  abuse,  profane  in  form — "  after 
to-morrow  morning,  never  let  me  lay  eyes  on  you 
again  ! " 

"  It  is  not  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  that  I 
come  here,  ever,"  Seth  retorted,  the  words  coming 
quick  and  fierce.  "  Be  sure  I'd  never  trouble  you 
again,  if  you  were  the  only  one  in  this  house  !  " 

The  lawyer's  eyes  sparkled  with  a  sardonic  mean- 
ing, and  Seth,  as  he  saw  it,  bit  his  tongue  with  im- 
patience at  the  thoughtless  form  of  his  speech  ;  for 
he  read  in  this  cold,  glancing  light  that  nothing  had 
been  lost  upon  his  brother's  perception  when  he  en- 
tered the  room. 

There  was  a  full  minute's  silence,  in  which  the  two 
men  faced  each  other.  Albert  was  busy  thinking 


The  Night:  the  Brothers.  229 

how  to  put  most  effectively  the  things  he  was  now 
moved  to  say.  At  last  he  spoke,  coolly,  incisively 
once  more,  while  Seth,  flushed  and  anxious,  pre- 
tended to  regulate  the  flame  of  the  lamp. 

"  Yes,  I  have  no  illusions  about  the  motive  of  your 
visits  to  the  farm.  I  am  not  blind  ;  even  if  I  were, 
others  about  the  house  are  not.  I  am  not  going  to 
say  what  you  are  doubtless  expecting.  I  might 
point  out  to  you  that  a  young  man  who  comes  to  a 
brother's  house — I  will  say  nothing  of  the  debt  of 
gratitude  he  owes  him — and  steals  chances  to  make 
love  to  that  brother's  wife,  is  a  pitiful  cur.  Stop  !  " 
— for  Seth  had  straightened  himself  angrily  at  this 
epithet,  despite  his  consciousness  of  self-reproach. 
"  I  repeat  that  I  might  say  this — but  I  will  not.  I 
prefer  to  view  it  in  another  light.  I  don't  think  you 
are  a  knave.  To  be  that  requires  intelligence.  You 
are  a  fool, — a  conceited,  presumptuous,  offensive 
fool.  You  set  yourself -up  to  judge  me ;  you  arro- 
gate to  yourself  airs  of  moral  superiority,  and  assume 
to  regulate  affairs  of  State  by  the  light  of  your  vir- 
tue and  wisdom — and  you  have  not  brains  enough 
meanwhile  to  take  care  of  yourself  against  the  cheap- 
est wiles  of  a  silly  woman,  who  amuses  herself  with 
young  simpletons  just  to  kill  time.  You  take  upon 
yourself  to  lay  down  the  law  to  a  great  National 
party — and  you  don't  know  enough  to  see  through 
even  so  transparent  a  game  as  this.  Get  out  of  my 
sight  !  I  have  wasted  too  much  time  with  you.  It 
annoys  me  to  think  that  such  an  idiot  belongs  to 
the  family." 


230  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

Albert  had  rightly  calculated  that  he  could  thus 
most  deeply  and  surely  wound  Seth,  but  he  was 
mistaken  in  his  estimate  of  the  nature  of  the  re- 
sponse. If  Seth's  vanity  was  scalded  by  his  brother's 
words,  he  at  least  didn't  show  it.  But  he  did  ad- 
vance upon  Albert  with  clenched  fists,  and  gleaming 
eyes,  and  shout  fiercely  at  him : 

"  A  man  who  will  speak  that  way  of  his  wife  is  a 
coward  and  a  scoundrel !  And  if  it  is  my  cousin 
Isabel  he  means,  he  is  a  liar  to  boot !  If  you  were 
not  my  brother " 

"  If  I  were  not,  what  then  ?  " 

Albert  waited  a  moment  for  the  answer,  which  the 
conflict  between  Seth's  rage  and  his  half-guilty  con- 
sciousness choked  in  the  utterance,  and  then  calmly 
turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room,  by  the  same 
outside  door  at  which  he  had  entered. 

As  Seth  went  upstairs,  he  heard  Isabel's  door 
close  softly.  "  I  wonder  how  much  of  it  she  heard  ?  " 
he  said  to  himself. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE  NIGHT:    MASTER  AND   MAN. 

ALBERT  walked  across  the  yard  toward  the  larger 
of  the  new  stable  buildings.  It  was  a  dry,  warm, 
luminous  night,  radiant  overhead  with  the  glory  of  a 
whole  studded  heaven  of  stars.  The  moon,  the  full, 
shining-faced  moon  of  October,  would  rise  in  an  hour 
or  so,  and  then  would  come  pale  mists  along  the  val- 
ley bottom-lands,  and  perhaps  clouds  in  the  eastern 
sky.  But  one  could  walk  bareheaded  in  this  soft 
starlight  now,  without  a  fear  of  cold. 

The  lawyer  paid  no  sort  of  attention  to  the  night, 
but  strode  across  the  grass,  swung  himself  over  the 
stile,  and  pulled  back  the  great  stable  door,  creaking 
shrilly  on  its  rollers,  with  angry  energy.  He  stop- 
ped upon  the  threshold  of  the  darkness,  through 
which  the  shapes  of  carriages  covered  with  white 
sheets  vaguely  loomed,  and  called  out : 

"  Milton ! " 

There  was  the  answering  sound  of  footsteps  over- 
head. A  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  was  opened, 
and  a  flood  of  light  illumined  the  staircase. 

"  Oh,  you've  got  back,  ay  ?  "  said  a  voice  from  the 
top. 

Albert's  answer  was  to  climb  the  short,  upright 
flight  of  stairs,  and  enter  the  room  above. 


232  SetKs  Brother  s   Wife. 

It  had  been  Milton's  idea,  when  the  new  buildings 
were  erected,  to  achieve  complete  domestic  auton- 
omy by  arranging  for  himself  a  residential  room 
above  the  carriage  place.  The  chamber  was  high 
and  commodious.  It  had  been  lathed  and  plastered, 
and,  in  lieu  of  wall-paper,  the  sides  were  decorated 
with  coarsely-colored  circus  bills,  or  pictures  from 
sporting  weeklies,  all  depicting  women  in  tights. 
There  was  a  good  corded  bed  in  one  corner.  Two 
chairs,  a  stained  pine  table  on  which,  beside  the  lamp, 
were  some  newspapers,  a  little  wood  stove,  and  a 
mantel-shelf  covered  with  tin-types  and  cheap  pho- 
tographs, completed  the  scene.  Milton  enjoyed  liv- 
ing here  greatly.  It  comported  with  his  budding 
ideas  of  his  own  personal  dignity,  and  it  freed  him 
from  the  disagreeable  supervision  which  the  elder 
Miss  Fairchild  was  so  prone  to  exercise  over  all  who 
lived  in  the  house.  Only  the  Lawton  girl,  Melissa, 
came  across  the  yard  each  forenoon,  to  tidy  up  the 
room,  and  chuckle  over  the  pictures  and  the  tastes 
which  these,  and  the  few  books  Milton  from  time  to 
time  brought  home  from  a  sporting-library  at  Thes- 
saly,  indicated. 

"  It's  lucky  you  hadn't  gone  to  bed,"  said  the  law- 
yer, curtly,  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes  to  shade 
them  from  the  flaring  light,  and  sitting  down.  "  I  was 
going  to  wake  you  up.  What's  your  news  ?  " 

"  I've  been  over  to  Tyre  twice  to  see  Beekman,  'n' 
no  use.  Once  he  wouldn't  talk  at  all — jis'  kep  his 
ole  lantern-jaws  tight  shet,  'n'  said  '  Ef  Albert  Fair- 
child  wants  to  see  me,  he  knaows  where  I  kin  be 


The  Night :  Master  and  Man.        233 

faound.'  Th'  other  time  he  was  more  talkative — tried 
his  best  to  fine  aout  what  I  was  drivin'  at,  but  I 
couldn't  git  no  satisfaction  aout  o'  him.  He  wouldn't 
bine  himself  to  nothin'.  He  jis'  stood  off  et  arm's 
lenth,  'n'  sized  up  what  I  was  a  sayin*  in  that  dum  sly 
way  o' his.  I  couldn't  make  head  nor  tail  of  him.  He 
wouldn't  say  he  would  take  money,  'n'  he  wouldn't 
say  he  wouldn't.  He  wouldn't  say  yes  or  nao  to  th* 
post  office  scheme,  or  anythin'  else.  He  jis'  kep'  his 
big  eyes  on  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  You  ketch  a 
weasel  asleep  ! '  'n'  listened.  Naow  yeh  knaow  th' 
hull  of  it.  If  yeh  want  anythin'  more  done,  yeh  bet- 
ter do  it  yerself." 

The  lawyer  looked  attentively  at  his  hired  man, 
and  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  table.  "  So 
that's  all,  is  it  ?  You  are  no  further  ahead  with  Beek- 
man  than  when  the  Convention  adjourned  ?  You've 
got  no  proposition  from  him — no  statement  as  to 
how  he  takes  my  proposals  ?  " 

"  That's  it,  Albert— jest  it !  " 

Something  in  Milton's  tone  seemed  to  annoy  Al- 
bert even  more  than  his  confession  of  failure  had 
done.  He  rose  to  his  feet  abruptly.  "  Don't '  Albert' 
me  !  "  he  said,  raising  his  voice  out  of  its  accustomed 
calm ;  "  I  don't  like  it  !  You  take  too  much  upon 
yourself.  But — I  am  to  blame  for  it  myself.  I've 
let  you  run  things  with  too  free  a  hand,  and  trusted 
affairs  to  you  that  I  ought  to  have  kept  to  myself. 
It  is  always  my  way,"  he  went  on,  in  petulant  self- 
criticism.  "  I  never  did  trust  anybody  who  was 
worth  the  powder  to  blow  him  up.  I  ought  to  be 


234  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

used  to  it  by  this  time.  But  to  encounter  two  such 
fools  in  one  evening — and  this  evening  of  all  others, 
too — by  George!  it's  enough  to  make  a  man  strike 
his  mother ! " 

"I  ain't  no  fool,  Mister  Fairchild  " — the  hired 
man  was  standing  up  too,  and  his  harsh  tones  gave 
the  title  an  elaborate,  almost  ridiculous  emphasis — 
"  'n'  I'll  thank  yeh  to  keep  yer  tongue  civil,  tew  ! 
Ef  yeh  don't  like  my  style,  yeh  kin  git  sum'un  else 
to  do  yer  dirty  work  for  yeh.  I've  no  hankerin'  fer 
it.  I'm  hired  to  manage  this  farm,  I  am.  Nothin' 
was  said  'baout  my  hevin'  to  run  a  Congresshn'l  cam- 
paign into  th'  bargain.  I  ain't  sayin'  but  what  I  kin 
do  it's  well's  some  other  folks.  I  ain't  sayin'  that  it's 
beyon'  me.  P'raps  I've  got  my  pull  'n'  this  caounty, 
's  well  V  some  other  people.  P'raps  'f  I  was  amine 
to,  I  could  knock  somebuddy's  game  skyhigh,  jis' 
by  liftin'  my  little  finger  tomorrer.  I  ain't  sayin' 
I'm  goin'  to  dew  it.  I  ain't  findin'  no  fault  with 
yeh.  All  I  say  is  I  ain't  goin'  to  take  one  ioty  o' 
slack  from  you,  or  anybody  else,  about  this  thing. 
You  hear  me  !  " 

The  hired  man  had  spoken  aggressively  and 
loudly,  with  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of  his 
vest,  and  his  shaggy  head  well  up  in  the  air.  He 
knew  his  employer  pretty  well,  and  had  estimated 
with  some  precision  the  amount  of  impudence  he 
would  bear.  This  full  measure  he  was  not  disposed 
to  abate  one  atom.  He  had  failed  to  buy  the  Jay 
County  boss,  or  even  to  satisfactorily  gauge  his 
intentions,  it  was  true,  but  that  was  no  reason 


The  Night :  Master  and  Man.        235 

why  he  should  submit  to  being  called  a  fool  by 
Albert  Fairchild,  who  couldn't  run  his  farm,  let 
alone  his  Congressional  campaign,  without  him. 
So  the  mean-figured,  slouching  countryman,  with 
his  cheap,  ill-fitting  clothes,  frowzy  beard,  and  rough, 
red  hands  truculently  spread  palm  outward  on  his 
breast,  stood  his  ground  before  the  city  lawyer  and 
grinned  defiance  at  him. 

The  lawyer  did  not  immediately  reply.  He  was 
not  ordinarily  at  a  loss  for  words  or  decisions  in  his 
dealings  with  men,  but  this  rude,  uncouth  rustic, 
with  his  confident  air  and  his  fund  of  primordial  cun- 
ning, puzzled  him.  There  was  some  uneasiness  in 
the  feeling,  too,  for  he  could  not  remember  the  ex- 
act limits  of  his  confidences  with  Milton.  Moreover 
he  could  not  afford,  at  any  price,  to  quarrel  with  him 
now  on  the  eve  of  the  Convention.  "  After  the 
election  we'll  clip  your  wings,  my  fine  fellow,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  but  he  gave  the  words  upon 
which  he  finally  decided  a  kindlier  turn. 

"Yes,  I  hear  you.  Almost  anybody  on  the  side- 
hill  could,  the  way  you  are  talking.  There  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  lose  your  temper.  If  you 
couldn't  fix  Beekman,  why  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
We  must  go  at  it  in  a  different  way.  I  can  see 
through  him.  He's  standing  out  for  a  cash  payment. 
The  old  fox  wants  money  down." 

"  Well,  you've  got  it  fur  him,  hain't  yeh  ?  Go 
'n'  give  it  to  him,  straight  aout  ! " 

"  But  that's  it — I  wanted  you  to  bring  back  an 
idea  of  his  figure." 


236  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

"  His  figger.     How  much  hev  yeh  got?.  " 

"Never  mind  that — it's  a  d — d  sight  more  than 
the  office  is  worth;  but  when  a  man  gets  into  a 
fight  of  this  sort,  he's  got  to  force  his  way  through, 
cost  or  no  cost." 

"  Air  yeh  sure  it  can't  be  traced  ?  Wuz  yeh  care- 
ful to  raise  it  so  nobuddy  cud  spot  yeh,  and  give 
aout  that  yeh  got  so  much  money  together  for  pur- 
poses o'  bribery  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  perfectly  safe.     There  is  no  record." 

"  'N'  nobuddy  on  airth  knaows  yeh've  got  th' 
money  ?  " 

"  Not  a  living  soul !  " 

The  two  men  communed  together  as  to  the  im- 
portance of  immediate  action.  The  Convention 
was  to  reassemble  at  Tyre,  fifteen  miles  away,  at 
eleven  the  following  forenoon.  The  political  mas- 
ter of  Jay  County,  Abe  Beekman,  who  held  in  his 
hands  the  deciding  power,  lived  near  Tyre,  but  in 
the  valley  some  miles  further  on.  The  first  train 
from  Thessaly  in  the  morning  would  be  too  late,  for 
Beekman  would  have  already  arrived  on  the  ground 
at  Tyre,  coming  from  the  opposite  direction,  and 
would  have  begun  work  on  his  own  hook.  He  must 
be  seen  at  his  home,  early  in  the  morning.  The 
question  was — how  to  encompass  this. 

"  You  might  drive  across  to-night,"  Albert  sug- 
gested ;  "  it  can't  be  more  than  twenty  miles.  It's 
a  bad,  up-hill  road,  but  four  or  five  hours  ought  to 
do  it,  easily  enough.  By  George — I  believe  I'll  go 
myself — start  at  once,  see  Beekman  about  daybreak, 


The  Night :  Master  and  Man.        237 

and  then  come  back  to  Tyre  by  breakfast  time ; 
as  if  I  had  just  driven  over  from  here.  No  one  will 
suspect  a  thing." 

"Yes,  thet's  a  fust-rate  idee,"  assented  Milton; 
"  only  be  keerful  'n'  put  yer  money  in  a  safe 
place." 

The  lawyer  again  slapped  his  breast  with  a  con- 
fident "  Never  fear  about  that,"  and  went  to  the 
house  to  get  some  wraps  for  the  night  ride,  leaving 
Milton  to  harness  the  grays,  and  drag  out  the  side- 
bar buggy  with  the  pole.  The  hired-man  hummed 
to  himself  as  he  moved  quietly,  dextrously  in  the 
semi-darkness  in  the  performance  of  this  task. 

Albert  returned,  just  as  the  hame  straps  were 
being  buckled. 

"  Everybody  seems  to  be  asleep  in  the  house," 
he  said.  "  If  they  ask  any  questions  in  the  morning, 
mind  you  know  nothing  whatever.  That  brother  of 
mine  is  no  friend.  Be  careful  what  you  say  to  him. 
Let  him  walk  to  the  depot  in  the  morning.  It'll  do 
him  good.  Oh  yes,  by  the  way,  better  let  me  have 
one  of  those  revolvers  of  yours — you  have  'em  up- 
stairs, haven't  you — give  me  the  one  that  strikes  fire 
every  time." 

Milton  came  down  and  out  presently,  saying 
that  he  just  remembered  having  lent  the  weapon. 
"  'Tother's  no  good,"  he  added  ;  "  yeh  don't  need  no 
pistol  anyway.  Th'  moon'll  be  up  direc'ly." 

Albert  gathered  up  the  lines,  and  drove  out  slowly 
toward  the  road. 

"  Yeh  better  save  th'  beasts  till  after  yeh  git  over 


238  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

Tallman's  hill,  V  rest  'em  there  by  th'  gulf ! "  Mil- 
ton called  after  him,  as  a  last  injunction. 

The  hired  man  stood  at  the  stable  door,  and 
watched  the  buggy  pass  the  darkened,  silent  house, 
turn  out  on  the  high-road,  and  disappear  beneath  the 
poplars.  The  moon  was  just  coming  up,  beyond 
this  line  of  trees,  and  it  made  the  gloom  of  their 
shadow  deeper.  His  eyes,  from  following  the  ve- 
hicle ranged  back  to  the  house,  which  reared  itself 
black  against  the  whitening  sky.  There  was  there 
no  sound,  nor  any  sign  of  life.  He  took  a  revolver 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  examined  it  in  the  starlight, 
cocking  it  again  and  again  to  make  sure  that  there 
had  been  no  mistake.  Satisfied  with  the  inspection, 
he  put  it  back  in  his  side  coat -pocket.  He  went  up- 
stairs, changed  his  hat,  took  a  drink  out  of  a  flat 
brown  bottle  in  his  cupboard,  and  spent  a  minute  or 
two  looking  at  one  of  the  tin-type  portraits  on  the 
mantel-shelf.  He  held  the  picture  to  the  light,  and 
grinned  as  he  gazed — then  put  it  in  his  breast  pocket, 
blew  out  the  lamp,  and  felt  his  way  softly  down 
stairs. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  came  out  from  the  stable, 
leading  the  swift  black  mare.  She  was  saddled  and 
bridled,  and  seemed  to  understand,  as  he  led  her 
over  the  grass,  that  he  wanted  no  noise  made.  The 
man  and  beast,  throwing  long,  grotesque  shadows  on 
the  lawn,  in  the  light  of  the  low  moon,  stole  past  the 
house,  and  out  upon  the  road.  Milton  here  climbed 
into  the  saddle,  and  with  an  exultant  little  cluck, 
started  in  the  direction  his  master  had  gone,  still 


The  Night :  Master  and  Man.        239 

keeping  the  black  mare  on  the  grass.  They,  too,  dis- 
appeared under  the  poplars. 

The  moon  mounted  into  the  heavens,  pushing 
aside  the  aspiring  clouds  which  sought  to  dispute 
her  passage,  then  clothing  them  in  her  own  livery  of 
light,  and  drawing  them  upward  after  her,  in  a  glit- 
tering train  of  attendance.  All  over  the  hill-side  the 
calm  radiance  rested.  The  gay  hues  with  which 
autumn's  day  brush  painted  the  woods,  the  hedge 
rows,  the  long  stretches  of  orchard,  stubble,  and 
field,  sought  now  to  only  hint  at  their  beauty,  as  they 
yielded  new  outlines,  mystic  suggestions  of  form  and 
color,  in  the  soft  gray  picture  of  mezzotint.  Thin 
films  of  vapor  rose  to  enwrap  the  feet  of  the  dark 
firs,  nearer  to  the  sky,  and  in  the  valley  below  the 
silver  of  the  moonlight  lost  itself  on  the  frost-like 
whiteness  of  the  gathering  mist.  It  was  a  night  for 
the  young  to  walk  together,  and  read  love's  purest, 
happiest  thoughts  in  each  other's  eyes — for  the  old 
to  drink  in  with  thankful  confession  the  faith  that 
the  world  was  still  gracious  and  good. 

Milton  was  walking  the  mare  now,  still  on  the  grass. 
He  could  hear  the  sound  of  wheels,  just  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   NIGHT:    THE   LOVERS. 

SETH  had  gone  up  to  his  room  in  a  state  of  wretch- 
edness which,  seeming  insupportable  at  the  outset, 
had  grown  steadily  worse  upon  reflection.  He  said 
to  himself  that  he  had  never  before  in  his  whole  life 
been  so  humiliated  and  unhappy,  and  then  smiled 
with  pitying  contempt  for  the  inadequacy  of  such  a 
statement  of  the  case.  One's  career  must  have  been 
titanic  in  its  tragic  experiences  to  warrant  such  a 
comparison.  "  I  have  never  known  before  what  suf- 
fering was,"  he  thought,  as  he  paced  up  and  down 
his  little  room,  scourging  himself  with  the  lash  of 
bitter  reflections. 

To  try  to  sleep  did  not  enter  his  head.  He  sat  for 
a  long  time  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  seeking  to  evolve 
something  like  order  from  the  chaos  of  his  wits,  but 
he  could  not  think.  Had  he  tried  to  write,  to  dis- 
cuss the  thing  in  a  letter,  the  simple  familiar  opera- 
tion of  the  pen  might  have  led  him  out  of  the  cul de 
sac.  As  it  was,  whichever  turn  his  mind  sought  to 
take,  there  rose  an  impassable  barrier  of  shame,  or 
rage  or  self-recrimination.  In  whatever  light  he 
tried  to  view  the  situation,  it  was  all  pain.  He  had 
been  curtly,  cruelly  thrown  off  by  his  brother — the 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  241 

man  to  whom  he  owed  everything — and  he  had  had 
to  listen  to  the  most  cutting,  insulting  language 
from  this  brother  before  they  parted.  Then,  as  he 
clenched  his  fists  and  fumed  with  impotent  anger  at 
the  recollection  of  this  language,  there  would  come 
to  divert  this  wrath,  and  turn  it  back  upon  himself, 
the  facts  that  he  had  interposed  his  own  boyish  vanity 
and  conceit  to  balk  this  brother's  purposes,  and  had 
been  caught  trembling  on  the  very  brink  of  making 
love  to  this  brother's  wife.  Did  he  not  richly  merit 
Albert's  scorn?  He  could  remember — should  he 
ever  forget  ? — the  exact  words  of  Albert's  contempt- 
uous characterization  :  "A  conceited,  presumptuous, 
offensive  fool."  Did  he  not  deserve  them  all?  He 
owed  this  brother  everything :  the  honest  boy  in- 
sisted upon  saying  this  to  himself  over  and  over 
again,  as  the  basis  of  all  argument  on  the  subject ; 
the  opportunity  came  for  him  to  repay  something 
of  this  debt.  How  had  he  improved  it  ?  By  setting 
himself  up  to  oppose  this  brother  in  the  chief  object 
of  his  life,  and,  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  by  yield- 
ing weakly  to  the  temptation  to  rob  him  of  his 
domestic  honor  as  well !  "  I  must  be  a  villain  as 
well  as  a  fool,  must  I ! "  the  youngster  growled  be- 
tween his  set  teeth,  as  he  threw  himself  from  the 
bed,  and  began  the  gloomy  pacing  up  and  down 
again. 

He  had  not  lighted  his  lamp.  The  soft  half-dark- 
ness of  the  starlight,  sufficing  barely  to  render  objects 
visible  in  the  room,  suited  his  mood.  He  heard  the 
sound  of  wheels  now  on  the  gravel  below.  Looking 

16 


242  Set  Its  Brother  s    Wife. 

out,  he  could  see  that  the  grays  were  being  driven 
out ;  as  they  turned  the  corner  of  the  house,  the  full 
moonlight  fell  upon  them  and  the  carriage,  and  Seth 
saw  distinctly  that  it  was  his  brother  who  was  driv- 
ing, and  that  he  was  wrapped  as  for  an  all-night 
ride. 

"  He  won't  even  stay  under  the  same  roof  with 
me ! "  he  said  half-aloud,  with  a  fresh  bitterness  of 
self-accusation — and  then  the  torment  of  reproach- 
ing voices  began  in  his  breast  again. 

As  he  turned  from  the  window  he  heard  a  low 
rapping  at  his  door ;  a  minute  later,  he  heard  Isa- 
bel's voice,  almost  a  whisper  : 

"  Seth  !  Don't  open  the  door,  but  tell  me,  who 
was  it  that  went  out  with  the  carriage  just  now?  I 
heard  it,  but  from  my  window  I  could  see  nothing. 
Was  it  he?" 

Seth  answered,  as  calmly  as  he  could  :  "  Yes,  I  am 
sure  of  it.  I  recognized  him."  He  stood  close  to 
the  door,  and  the  thought  that  only  the  thin  pine 
panels  divided  him  from  her  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind. 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Once  his  hand  involun- 
tarily moved  toward  the  latch,  but  he  drew  it  back. 
Then  she  spoke  again  : 

"You  had  a  terrible  quarrel,  didn't  you,  and  all 
for  me !  I  heard  your  answer,  Seth,  way  up  here. 
How  nobly  you  spoke  !  It  went  straight  to  my 
heart,  to  hear  his  brutality  rebuked  in  that  manly 
way.  I  shan't  forget  it." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  then  she  whispered 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  243 

with  a  lingering  softness,  "  Good  night !  "  and  he 
heard  the  faint  rustling  of  her  garments  down  the 
hall. 

Brief  as  the  interruption  was,  it  had  changed  the 
whole  spirit  of  his  thoughts.  The  vindictive  accus- 
ing demons  had  vanished,  and  left  no  more  than  a 
numbing  sense  of  past  torture  in  his  breast.  The 
anguish  of  self-condemnation,  the  crushing  burden 
of  self-humiliation,  had  passed  away.  The  moonlight, 
as  it  spread  over  the  slope  toward  Thessaly  village, 
seemed  to  bring  healing  in  its  peaceful  radiance. 
His  own  provocation  grew  mountain  high ;  his 
brother's  justification  for  his  insults  and  barbarity 
diminished.  "  I  was  doing  only  my  duty  in  oppos- 
ing him,"  he  said  confidently,  and  there  was  no  voice 
of  dissent  now.  "  Still  more  was  I  right  in  defend- 
ing poor  Isabel  from  his  unmanly  imputations.  If 
a  man  is  incapable  of  appreciating  such  a  wife ." 

He  did  not  follow  out  his  thought,  but  surren- 
dered himself  instead  to  calling  up,  and  enjoying  in 
detail,  the  sweet  scene  which  Albert's  coming  had  so 
rudely  broken  into.  How  delicious  it  all  was,  as 
fancy  now  limned  its  outlines — yet  not  all  the  dainty 
graces  of  imagination  and  memory  could  reproduce 
in  its  full  charm  the  original.  He  could  think,  and 
think,  until  the  whole  room  seemed  instinct  with 
her  presence,  but  how  poor  a  counterfeit  it  all  was, 
lacking  the  perfume  of  her  hair  and  laces,  the  deep, 
languorous  glow  of  her  eyes,  the  thrilling  melody  of 
her  low  voice.  The  tender,  caressing  prolongation 
of  syllables  in  that  whispered  "  good  night "  made 


244  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

soft  soul-music  still  in  his  ears.  The  insane  thought 
— he  did  not  dare  ask  himself  if  it  were  also  a  hope 
— that  she  might  come  again,  took  possession  of 
him,  and  he  stood  for  a  long  time  close  by  the  door, 
listening,  waiting. 

It  was  while  Seth  stood  thus,  seeing  only  with  the 
eyes  of  the  mind,  that  Milton  stole  past  on  the  grass 
below,  with  the  black  mare,  on  his  mission  of  mur- 
der. Had  the  young  man  been  at  the  window  in- 
stead, much  that  followed  might  have  been  different. 

Seth  stood  at  the  door  for  what  seemed  to  him  a 
long  time,  until  gradually  the  futility  of  the  action 
became  apparent  to  him.  "  Of  course  she  would  not 
come  !  "  he  said,  and  resumed  his  pacing  once  more. 

The  Faust-like  vision  began  to  dance  before  his 
eyes  again,  but  with  a  witchery  now  which  was  un- 
canny. The  calm  of  waiting  had  brought  him 
enough  strength  of  control  to  feel  the  presence  of 
the  cloven  hoof  in  it  all.  The  temptation  was  more 
urgent,  strenuous  than  ever,  but  he  was  conscious  of 
a  deeper,  more  dogged  spirit  of  resistance  within 
him  than  ever,  as  well.  There  was  no  renewal  of 
the  savage,  chaotic  war  of  emotions  under  which  he 
had  suffered  at  the  outset,  groaning  in  the  self-in- 
*  fliction  of  purposeless  pain.  This  was  a  definite,  al- 
most scientific,  struggle  between  two  distinct  forces, 
and  though  they  fought  their  battle  with  all  manner 
of  sophistical  weapons,  and  employed  feints,  pre- 
tended retreats  and  false  advances  in  highest  strate- 
gical form,  he  was  never  deceived  for  a  moment  as 
to  which  was  the  bad  and  which  the  good. 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  245 

The  issue  forced  itself  upon  him,  finally,  with  a 
demand  for  decision  which  was  imperative.  He 
could  stay  no  longer  in  his  room.  There  was 
neither  sleep  nor  rest  of  any  kind  there  for  him. 

He  went  to  the  door,  and  opened  it.  Through 
the  blackness  he  could  see  a  faint  vertical  line  of 
light  at  the  front  end  of  the  low  hall,  as  of  a  lamp 
burning,  and  a  door  left  ajar.  The  yellow  ray  gleamed 
as  he  looked  at  it,  and  seemed  to  wave  itself  in  fas- 
cinating motions  of  enticement.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  undecided,  all  his  impulses  strongly  sway- 
ing towards  the  temptation,  all  his  resisting  reasons 
growing  weaker  in  their  obstruction,  and  some  even 
turning  coward,  and  whispering,  as  they  laid  down 
their  arms,  "  After  all,  youth  has  its  rights."  Then 
he  squared  his  shoulders,  with  the  old  gesture  of 
resolution,  and  walked  steadily  away  from  the  line 
of  light,  down  the  stairs,  and  out  of  the  door,  bare- 
headed under  the  stars. 

He  had  walked  for  a  long,  long  time,  before  he 
became  conscious  that  he  had  left  his  hat  behind. 
The  night  air  was  exceptionally  mild  for  the  season, 
but  it  grew  cool  enough  to  bring  this  fact  to  his 
notice.  As  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  stopped 
short  at  the  discovery,  his  whole  mind  seemed  to 
clarify  itself.  He  had  been  walking  aimlessly,  al- 
most unconsciously — it  must  have  been  for  much 
more  than  an  hour.  In  a  vague  way,  he  knew 
where  his  steps  had  led  him.  He  had  walked  through 
the  orchard  to  his  mother's  grave,  and  stood  for 
some  time  by  the  brier-clad  wall  and  fence  which 


246  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

surrounded  it,  thinking  of  his  boyhood,  and  of  her. 
Then  he  had  struck  across  through  Sile  Thomas's 
pasture,  to  the  main  road ;  thence  by  the  way  of  the 
school-house,  and  skirting  the  hill,  to  the  Burfield 
road,  at  the  farthermost  end  of  the  line  of  poplars. 

As  he  stopped  here  now  collecting  his  thoughts, 
awakening  himself  as  it  were,  the  sound  of  chorus- 
singing  reached  him,  faint  at  first,  then  growing 
more  distinct.  A  wagon-load  of  young  people  were 
returning  from  Leander  Crump's  husking,  enjoying 
themselves  in  the  fair  moonlight.  From  the  sounds, 
they  must  have  been  about  in  front  of  the  Fairchild 
homestead,  and  they  were  coming  rapidly  toward 
Seth.  If  he  remained  in  the  road,  they  must  pass 
and  recognize  him. 

There  was  a  division  line  of  thorn  hedge,  long 
since  grown  into  tall  young  trees,  coming  to  the  road 
here,  and  a  path  beside  it  leading  to  a  rude  stile  in 
the  turnpike  fence.  This  path  went  straight  to  Mrs. 
Warren's  house,  as  Seth  had  known  from  boyhood, 
but  he  gave  this  no  thought  as  he  stepped  over  the 
stile,  and  moved  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  thorns. 
He  walked  a  score  of  yards  or  so,  and  then  stepped 
closer  into  the  obscurity  of  the  hedge,  to  wait  till 
the  hay-wagon  and  its  caroling  crew  had  passed  by 
on  the  road  outside.  He  was  feeling  very  cold  now, 
and  tired  to  boot,  and  said  to  himself  that  as  soon 
as  the  road  was  clear  he  would  go  home  and  go  to 
bed. 

To  his  surprise  the  singing  came  to  an  abrupt  halt, 
just  as  the  wagon  approached  the  end  of  the  hedge. 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  247 

There  was  a  chorus  of  merry  "whoas!"  as  the 
horses  drew  up,  and  through  the  clear  air  Seth  could 
hear  a  confused  babel  of  voices,  all  jovially  discuss- 
ing something.  One  male  voice,  louder  than  the 
rest,  called  out : 

"  You'd  better  let  me  come  along  with  you  !  " 

There  was  some  giggling  audible,  out  of  which 
rose  a  clear,  fresh  girlish  voice  which  Seth  knew : 

"  No,  thanks !  I  can  cut  across  by  this  path  in 
less  than  no  time.  I'm  not  afraid.  The  tramps  are 
all  abed  and  asleep  by  this  time,  like  other  honest 
people." 

With  more  laughter,  and  a  salvo  of  "  good  nights  !" 
the  wagon  started  off  again,  and  Annie  Fairchild, 
singing  lightly  to  herself  the  refrain  of  the  chorus, 
and  holding  her  face  up  to  catch  the  full  radiance  of 
the  moonlight,  came  walking  briskly  down  the  path. 

Despite  her  valiant  confidence  the  young  woman 
gave  a  visible  start  of  alarm  as  Seth  stepped  out 
from  the  shadows  to  speak  to  her.  She  threw  her- 
self forward  as  if  to  run,  then  looked  again,  stopped, 
and  then  gave  a  little  tremulous  laugh,  and  cried  : 

"  Why,  Seth  !  is  that  you.  Mercy  !  How  you 
frightened  me ! " 

He  could  think  of  nothing  better  than  a  feeble 
parody  of  her  words :  "  Yes,  it  is  time  all  honest 
people  were  abed  and  asleep." 

He  said  this  with  a  half-smile,  but  the  girl's  face 
grew  more  serious  still  as  she  looked  at  her  cousin. 
She  spoke  eagerly  : — 

"Why,   what's   the   matter  with    you   to-night? 


248  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

Where  is  your  hat  ?  You  look  as  white  as  a  ghost ! 
Oh — have  you  come  from  our  house?  Is  it  some- 
thing about  grandmother  ?  " 

"No,  it's  nothing  about  her.  I  haven't  been 
nearer  your  place  than  this.  I  only  stepped  in  here 
so  as  to  avoid  the  wagon.  I  didn't  want  them  to 
see  me  like  this." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  like  this  ?  Now,  Seth,  I 
know  something  has  happened.  What  is  it  ?  Am 
I  wanted  ?  Can  I  do  anything  ?  " 

"  Let  me  walk  with  you  to  your  house,"  he  said, 
and  they  turned  together  down  the  path.  "  Some- 
thing has  happened.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell 
you  what  it  is,  but  only  to  be  with  you  like  this  rests 
and  comforts  me." 

He  was  walking  in  the  shadow  ;  the  strong  light, 
which  only  tipped  his  shoulder  occasionally,  envel- 
oped her.  He  watched  her  furtively  as  they  moved 
along,  and,  just  in  proportion  as  he  found  relief  and 
solace  in  the  contemplation  of  her  clear,  frank, 
serene  face,  he  shrank  from  confiding  his  own  weak 
woes  to  her.  But,  as  he  said,  it  was  a  comfort  to  be 
with  her. 

They  had  walked  almost  to  within  sight  of  the 
Warren  farmhouse  before  he  broke  the  silence.  She 
had  scarcely  looked  at  him  since  they  started,  but 
kept  her  gray  eyes  straight  ahead,  as  if  viewing  some 
fixed,  distant  object.  Her  lips  were  tightly  pressed 
together — the  only  sign  of  emotion  on  her  face — and 
this  proof  that  she  was  hard  at  work  thinking 
tended  further  to  embarrass  him. 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  249 

"  I  truly  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,  Annie,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  But  Albert  and  I  have — have  had 
words  together;  in  fact — we've  quarrelled." 

Her  lips  quivered  a  little.  She  did  not  turn  her 
face  toward  him,  but  said,  nervously  :  "  I  have  been 
expecting  that." 

Seth  did  not  ask  himself  the  cause  of  his  cousin's 
anticipatory  confidence,  but  went  on  gloomily : 

"  Well,  it  has  come.  We  had  it  out,  this  evening, 
to  the  very  last  word.  And  then,  as  if  that  were  not 
enough,  the  devil  himself  got  hold  of  me  afterward, 
and  tugged  and  tore  at  me  to —  but  I  can't  tell 
you  that.  I  can  scarcely  realize  myself  what  I've 
been  through  this  night.  Why,  I've  been  wander- 
ing about  here  on  the  hill-side  for  hours,  not  know- 
ing where  I  was  going,  or  even  what  I  was  thinking 
of,  like  a  mad  man.  You  can  see  how  my  hands  are 
scratched,  and  my  clothes  torn ;  that  is  from  the 
berry-bushes,  I  suppose,  up  by  mother's  grave.  I 
remember  being  there.  I  didn't  even  know  that  my 
head  was  bare,  until  just  before  the  wagon  came  up." 

Before  this  remarkable  recital  of  insane  things, 
Annie  was  properly  silent. 

Seth  added,  after  a  pause,  "  But  it  is  all  over  now. 
And  I  can't  tell  you,  you  can't  begin  to  guess,  how 
it  brings  me  to  my  senses,  and  soothes  and  restores 
me  to  have  met  you  like  this." 

As  he  paused  suddenly,  they  both  turned  to  listen 
and  look.  From  the  knoll  to  the  east,  where  the 
turnpike  ran  through  a  cutting,  there  came  a  curi- 
ously muffled  sound,  like  yet  unlike  the  first  measured 


250  Set /is  Brothers   Wife. 

drumming  of  a  partridge.  It  swelled  a  second  later 
into  something  more  definite,  as  they  saw  a  dark 
horse,  the  rider  crouching  low  over  its  neck,  gallop- 
ing like  the  wind  along  the  high-road  toward  Thes- 
saly.  The  pace  was  something  prodigious — the 
horse  had  vanished  like  an  apparition  before  they 
could  look  twice.  But  there  had  been  nothing  like 
a  commensurate  volume  of  sound. 

"  The  horse  was  running  on  the  grass  beside  the 
road,"  Seth  remarked. 

"  Probably  going  for  a  doctor,"  was  her  comment. 
"  I  wonder  who  is  ill !  " 

"  It  looked  to  me  more  like  the  headless  horseman 
than  a  sick-messenger." 

As  he  said  this,  and  they  turned  to  walk  again, 
his  face  lighted  up  once  more.  The  thought  seemed 
to  please  him,  and  he  smiled  on  her  as  he  added : 

"Let  me  be  superstitious  enough  to  fancy  that 
the  thing  which  just  flashed  by,  in  a  rumble  of  low 
thunder,  was  the  demon  that  has  been  torturing  me 
all  this  while.  We  will  say  that  he  has  been  defeated, 
baffled,  and  has  fled  in  despair,  and  that  " — he  looked 
still  more  smilingly  at  her — "  the  fiend  has  been 
beaten  and  driven  away  by  you.  Do  you  know, 
Annie,  that  here  in  this  lovely  light  you  are  the  very 
picture  of  a  good  angel  ?  Perhaps  angels  don't  wear 
seal-skin  cloaks,  or  have  such  red  cheeks,  but  if  they 
knew  how  becoming  they  were,  they  would." 

Annie's  face,  which  had  been  immobile  in  thought, 
softened  a  little.  She  was  accustomed  to  her  cou- 
sin's hyperbole. 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  251 

"  I  am  delighted  if  you  feel  better,"  she  laughed 
back.  "  But  it  is  no  credit  specially  to  me.  Contact 
with  any  other  rational  human  being  would  prob- 
ably have  had  the  same  effect  upon  you.  If  I  had 
helped  you  in  any  way,  or  advised  you,  perhaps  I 
might  own  the  angelic  impeachment.  But  I  don't 
even  know  the  first  thing  about  your  trouble,  except 
that  you've  quarrelled  with  Albert,  and — and  had  a 
temptation." 

She  had  begun  gayly  enough,  but  she  uttered  the 
last  words  soberly,  almost  gravely.  Instinct  and 
observation  alike  told  her  that  Seth's  experiences 
had  been  of  a  deeply  serious  nature. 

He  sighed  heavily,  and  looked  on  the  ground. 
How  much  could  he  tell  her? — in  what  words  should 
he  put  it  ?  Even  as  he  sought  in  his  mind  for  safe 
and  suitable  phrases,  an  Idea — a  great,  luminous, 
magnificent  Idea — unfolded  itself  before  his  mental 
vision.  It  was  not  new  to  him — years  ago  he  had 
often  entertained  and  even  nourished  it — yet  it  had 
been  hidden,  dormant  so  long,  and  it  burst  forth  now 
so  grandly  transformed  and  altered,  that  for  an  in- 
stant he  stopped  abruptly,  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
breast  as  if  to  catch  his  breath.  Then  he  walked  on 
again,  still  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  He  fancied 
that  he  was  meditating ;  instead,  he  was  marvelling 
at  the  apotheosized  aptness  of  the  Providence  which 
had  sent  this  Idea  at  just  this  time,  and  swearing 
grateful  fealty  to  it  with  all  the  earnestness  of  his 
being. 

He  looked  up  at  last,  and  drew  her  arm  through 


252  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

• 

his.  They  were  near  the  house  now.  "  I  am  going 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  Annie,"  he  said.  "If 
I  have  not  finished  when  we  get  to  the  bars,  shall 
we  turn  back?  I  want  you  to  hear  it  all." 

"  It  is  pretty  late,  Seth,"  she  said,  but  neither  in 
tone,  nor  in  the  manner  in  which  she  allowed  her 
arm  to  be  taken,  was  there  the  kind  of  refusal  which 
dismays. 

There  was  no  need  now  to  seek  words.  They 
came  fast,  keeping  pace  with  the  surge  of  his 
thoughts. 

"  Annie,"  he  began,  "  I  have  been  as  near  the  gates 
of  hell  to-night  as  it  is  given  to  a  man  to  go,  and 
bring  back  his  soul.  I  have  fancied  all  this  while 
that  I  was  strong  because  I  was  successful ;  that  I 
was  courageous  because  I  happened  to  be  clever. 
I  found  myself  put  to  the  test  to-night,  and  I  was 
weak  as  water.  I  am  afraid  of  myself.  More,  I 
have  been  making  a  fool  of  myself.  I  know  now 
the  measure  of  my  weakness.  I  have  the  brains, 
perhaps,  but  I  have  no  balance-wheel.  I  fly  off ;  I 
do  insensate  things ;  I  throw  myself  away.  I  need 
a  strong,  sweet,  wise  nature  to  lean  upon,  to  draw 
inspiration  from.  Oh  if  you  could  realize  the  peace, 
the  happiness  your  simple  .presence  brought  me 
this  evening !  I  haven't  said  it  yet,  Annie,  but  you 
have  guessed  it — I  want  to  pledge  myself  to  you,  to 
swear  that  you  are  to  be  my  wife." 

The  girl  had  drawn  her  arm  from  his  before  the 
last  sentence  was  finished,  and  stood  facing  him. 
They  were  within  call  of  the  house,  but  she  did  not 


The  Night :  the  Lovers.  253 

offer  to  renew  the  walk.  She  answered  him  with  no 
trace  of  excitement,  looking  him  candidly  in  the 
face: 

"  I  am  not  sure  just  how  to  answer  you,  Seth. 
Hardly  any  girl  would  know,  I  think,  how  to  treat 
such  a  declaration  as  that.  Wait  a  moment — let 
me  finish !  In  the  first  place,  I  am  in  doubt  whether 
I  ought  to  treat  it  seriously  at  all.  You  are  dis- 
turbed, excited,  to-night ;  when  we  first  met  you 
looked  and  acted  like  a  madman.  And  then  again 
— understand,  I  am  trying  to  talk  to  you  as  a  friend 
of  all  your  life,  instead  of  a  mere  girl  acquaintance 
— I  would  not  marry  any  man  who  I  did  not  firmly 
believe  loved  me.  You  have  not  even  pretended 
that  you  love  me.  You  have  simply  complimented 
me  on  my  disposition,  and  pledged  yourself  to  a 
partnership  in  which  I  was  to  be  a  balance-wheel." 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me  !  " 

u  No,  Seth,  my  dear  cousin,  not  at  all.  I  am  only 
showing  you  the  exact  situation.  You  are  too  ex- 
cited, or  too  unpractical,  to  see  it  for  yourself.  You 
talk  now  about  being  at  the  gates  of  hell  and  ex- 
pressions like  that — wild  words  which  signify  only 
that  you  have  had  trouble  during  the  evening.  I 
fancy  that  all  men  are  apt  to  exaggerate  such  things 
— I  know  you  are. ,  -Why,  do  you  even  know  what 
trouble  is?  Have /had  no  trouble?  Have  I  not 
lived  a  whole  life  of  trial  here  with  a  bed-ridden  in- 
valid ?  And  there  are  other  things  that — that  I 
might  speak  of,  if  I  chose  to  complain.  For  instance  " 
— her  face  brightened  as  she  spoke,  now,  and  a  sug- 


254  Set  Its  Brothers   Wife. 

gestion  of  archness  twinkled  in  her  eyes — "  was  it 
not  a  terrible  thing  that  I  should  have  waded  into 
the  water,  that  day  of  the  fishing  party,  and  got  you 
out  all  by  myself,  and  then  heard  the  credit  coolly 
given  to  another — person,  who  never  got  so  much 
as  the  soles  of  her  shoes  wet  ?  " 

Annie  had  begun  seriously  enough,  but  the  soft- 
ness of  her  real  mood  toward  her  cousin,  together 
with  the  woman's  natural  desire  to  have  justice  done 
her  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  had  led  her  into  a  half- 
playful  revelation  of  pique.  Seth  would  have  an- 
swered here,  but  she  held  up  her  hand,  and  went  on  : 

"  Wait  till  I  am  through.  You  didn't  know  the 
truth  in  that  matter  of  the  log-jam.  I  understand 
that.  There  are  a  good  many  other  things  the  truth 
of  which  you  don't  know.  You  don't,  for  instance, 
know  the  real  facts  about  your  own  mind.  You 
have  had  trouble  to-night — for  all  your  talk  about 
making  a  clean  breast  of  it  you  haven't  told  me  yet 
what  it  was — and  your  imagination  makes  a  moun- 
tain out  of  what  was  probably  a  molehill,  and  you 
straightway  rush  off  bareheaded  to  wander  about 
like  a  ghost,  and  frighten  people  out  of  their  wits  ; 
and  then,  happening  to  meet  a  girl  who,  by  the  de- 
ceptive light  of  the  moon,  looks  as  if  she  had  some 
sense  about  her,  you  take  without  consideration  the 
most  important  step  a  man  can  take  in  his  whole 
life.  Isn't  that  a  fair  statement  of  the  case  ?  And, 
thinking  it  all  over,  don't  you  agree  with  me  that 
you  would  better  tie  my  handkerchief  about  your 
head  and  go  home  and  go  to  bed  ?  " 


The  Night:  the  Lovers.  255 

Seth  laughed  —  a  reluctant,  in-spite-of-himself 
laugh.  "You  always  would  make  fun  of  me  when 
I  tried  to  be  serious.  But  if  I  ever  was  serious  in 
my  life,  it  is  now.  Listen  to  me,  Annie !  It  is  not 
my  fault  if  I  see  you  now,  truly  as  you  are,  for  the 
first  time.  I  have  been  a  fool.  I  know  it.  I  said 
so  at  the  start.  But  a  man  is  the  creature  of  cir- 
cumstances, you  know.  Things  have  happened  to- 
night which  have  opened  my  eyes.  I  realize  now 
that  you  have  been  closest  to  my  heart  all  the  while, 
that  I  have  loved  you  all " 

Annie  stopped  him,  with  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  finish  that  to-night.  Please 
don't,  Seth.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  me — or  to  your- 
self. Perhaps  some  other  time  when  you  have 
thought  it  over  calmly — we  will  talk  about  it — that 
is,  if  you  are  of  the  same  mind.  If  you  are  not,  why, 
everything  shall  be  just  as  it  was  before.  And  more 
than  that,  Seth,  you — you  mustn't  feel  in  the  least 
bound  by  what  has  been  said  to-night.  You  know 
that  I  am  older  than  you — two  whole  months ! 
That  isn't  as  much  as  four  years  " — the  meekest  of 
her  sex  could  scarcely  have  foregone  that  shaft — 
"  but  it  gives  me  some  sort  of  authority  over  you. 
And  I  am  going  to  use  it  for  your  good.  If  it  be- 
comes necessary,  I  shall  treat  you  like  a  perverse 
little  boy,  who  doesn't  in  the  least  know  what  is 
good  for  him." 

There  was  no  discouragement  to  Seth  in  the  tones 
of  her  speech,  however  non-committal  its  text  might 
be.  He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  murmured : 


256  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

11  To  think  that  I  never  knew  until  now !  Ah,  you 
make  me  very  happy,  Annie.  And  shall  you  be 
happy,  too,  do  you  think,  happier  than  if  we  hadn't 
met?" 

She  smiled  as  she  disengaged  herself,  and  gave 
him  both  hands  to  say  that  they  must  separate : 
"  Happier  at  least  than  on  the  night  of  the  fishing 
party.  I  cried  myself  to  sleep  that  night." 

Seth  found  the  house  wholly  dark,  upon  his  re- 
turn. He  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  to  sleep,  and 
his  heavy  slumber  lasted  until  long  after  the  break- 
fast hour  the  following  forenoon. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  CONVENTION:   THE  BOSS. 

TYRE  had  seen  better  days.  In  the  noble  old 
time  of  stage  coaches  it  had  been  a  thriving,  almost 
bustling  place,  with  mills  turning  out  wares  cele- 
brated through  all  the  section,  with  a  starch  factory 
which  literally  gave  the  name  of  the  town  to  its 
product  as  a  standard  of  excellence,  and  with  taverns 
which  were  rarely  left  with  a  vacant  room  more  than 
a  day  at  a  time.  In  those  days  it  had  been  a  power 
in  politics  too.  The  old  court-house  which  frowned 
now  upon  the  village  green,  elbowing  the  more  mod- 
ern brick  jail  out  of  public  sight,  was  supposed  to 
have  echoed  in  its  time  about  the  tallest  eloquence 
that  any  court-house  in  the  State  had  heard.  From 
Tyre  had  come  to  Albany,  and  Washington  as  well, 
a  whole  cluster  of  strong,  shrewd,  stalwart-tongued 
politicians,  who  forced  their  way  to  speakerships, 
and  judgeships,  and  even  senatorships,  like  veritable 
sons  of  Anak.  It  was  a  Tyre  man  who  had  beaten 
Aaron  Burr  in  such  and  such  a  memorable  contest. 
It  was  another  Tyre  man  who,  by  assuming  lead  of 
the  distracted  Bucktails  at  a  certain  crucial  period, 
had  defeated  sundry  machinations  of  the  Clintonians, 
and  sounded  the  death-knell  of  their  hopes.  There 
17 


258  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

was  a  Tyre  man  in  the  Regency,  of  course,  and  he 
is  popularly  believed,  at  least  in  Jay  County,  to  have 
held  that  storied  syndicate  up  by  the  tail,  so  to 
speak,  years  after  it  would  otherwise  have  collapsed. 
At  every  State  Convention,  in  this  fine  old  time,  in- 
ferior politicians  from  other  sections  dissembled  their 
appetites  until  Tyre  had  been  fed  to  satiety.  And 
in  the  sowing  season  of  politics,  when  far-seeing 
candidates  began  arranging  for  a  share  in  the  autumn 
harvest  of  offices,  no  aspirant  felt  that  his  seed  had 
a  chance  of  sprouting  until  he  had  paid  a  pilgrimage 
to  Tyre,  and  invoked  the  mercy,  if  he  could  not 
have  the  smiles,  of  the  magnates  there. 

It  was  due  doubtless  to  the  traditions  of  these 
visits,  when  Judge  Gould,  the  hero  of  the  great 
Biggs  murder  case,  would  be  at  the  Nedahma  House, 
and  Senator  Yates,  who  unravelled  and  dragged  to 
the  pitiless  light  the  masonic  plot  to  blow  up  Mount 
Vernon,  was  to  be  found  at  the  turnpike  tavern,  and 
both  would  keep  pretty  well  in-doors  toward  even- 
ing because  Colonel  De  Lancey,  who  had  shot  four 
men  before  Hamilton's  death  discredited  duelling, 
was  in  town  on  private  business — it  was  no  doubt 
due  to  these  memories  that  Tyre  kept  up  its  politi- 
cal tastes  and,  in  a  faded  way,  its  political  prestige, 
long  after  its  material  importance  and  interest  had 
vanished.  The  mills  were  remembered  now  only  by 
the  widened  reaches  in  the  stream  where  their  dams 
had  once  been ;  the  starch  factory  was  a  dismantled 
ruin,  from  which  what  woodwork  the  lightning  had 
spared  had  long  since  been  abstracted  for  fuel ;  one 


The  Convention :  the  Boss.  259 

of  the  taverns  was  now  a  private  dwelling,  and  the 
other  two  neither  profited  themselves  nor  pleased 
the  wives  of  the  village  by  their  dependence  upon 
local  custom.  But  the  men  of  Tyre  were  still  in- 
tense politicians.  Indeed  their  known  virulence  had 
given  to  their  county  sobriquet  of  Jayhawker  an 
almost  national  fame.  Nowhere  else  in  the  State, 
proportionately,  were  so  many  weekly  partisan 
papers  taken — not  tame,  dispassionate  prints,  but 
the  fire-eaters  of  both  party  presses,  with  incessant 
harrowing  accounts  of  peaceful  and  confiding  negroes 
being  massacred  in  the  South,  on  the  one  side,  an- 
swered regularly  on  the  other  by  long  imposing 
tables  of  the  money  stolen  by  notorious  criminals  in 
the  public  service.  This  was  the  meat  Tyre  fed  on, 
and  contending  editors  could  not  serve  it  out  too 
rank  or  highly  peppered  for  its  taste. 

The  one  excitement  of  Tyre  too — far  transcend- 
ing the  county  fair,  which  had  only  interested  them 
casually,  and  which  they  had  seen  moved  over  to 
Sidon,  on  the  line  of  the  newly-extended  railroad, 
without  a  protest — was  a  political  convention. 
There  would  be  such  a  crowd  about  the  Court  House 
then  as  scarcely  the  spectacle  of  its  being  consumed 
by  flames  could  draw  at  another  time.  The  free- 
holders of  Tyre  paid  much  more  than  their  fair  share 
of  county  'taxes ;  they  knew  it,  and  did  not  grumble 
at  the  injustice.  In  fact  it  rather  pleased  them  than 
otherwise  to  see  their  town  rated  on  the  Supervisor's 
assessment-rolls  according  to  its  ancient  wealth  ;  the 
amercement  was  a  testimonial  to  their  dignity.  Up- 


260  Setk's  Brothers   Wife. 

start  towns  like  Sidon  might  wrangle  over  a  few 
hundred  dollars,  and  cheapen  their  valuation  in  the 
public  eye  by  unworthy  tricks;  Tyre  would  have 
none  of  such  small  doings;  it  would  preserve  a  gen- 
teel exterior,  even  if  it  had  to  eat  pork  grease  on 
its  buckwheat  cakes  in  domestic  seclusion.  But  if 
there  had  been  so  much  as  a  hint  about  holding  a 
county  convention  anywhere  else  than  in  the  Tyre 
Court  House — then,  to  use  Abe  Beekman's  homely 
expression,  you  would  have  seen  the  fur  fly  !  Other 
towns  might  indulge  their  modern  and  mercenary 
tastes  in  county  fairs,  railroads,  gas,  reservoirs  and 
the  like,  to  their  hearts'  content,  but  they  must  keep 
their  hands  off  political  conventions.  He  would  be 
a  brazen  Jayhawker  indeed  who  should  question 
Tyre's  monopoly  of  these ! 

So  new  generations  of  county  politicians  followed 
precedent  without  thought  of  murmuring,  and  ac- 
cepted the  discomforts  of  jolting  in  crowded  demo- 
crat-wagons over  the  stony,  bleak  hills  to  Tyre,  of 
eating  cold,  bad  dinners  in  the  smoke-dried,  draughty 
barracks  which  had  once  been  hotels,  of  drinking 
limed  well-water  with  the  unspeakable  whiskey — as 
natural  consequences  of  being  interested  in  the  public 
affairs  of  the  nation.  This  resignation  of  other  Jay 
County  towns  to  the  convention  claims  of  Tyre 
swelled  into  a  spirit  of  truculent  defence  every  two 
years,  when  the  question  of  a  joint  Congressional 
gathering  for  all  three  counties  of  the  district  came 
up.  Precisely  what  would  have  happened  if  the 
bigger  shires  of  Dearborn  and  Adams  had  combined 


The  Convention:  the  Boss.  261 

in  a  refusal  to  come  to  Tyre,  I  am  not  bold  enough 
to  guess.  The  general  feeling  would  probably  have 
been  that  a  crisis  had  arisen  in  which  Jay  County 
could  do  no  less  than  dissolve  her  relations  with  the 
Federal  Union. 

Fortunately  no  such  menace  of  secession  and 
civil  war  was  ever  suffered  to  rise  glowering  on  the 
horizon.  Abe  Beekman,  the  boss  of  Jay  County, 
always  managed  to  have  Tyre  designated  by  the 
District  Committee,  and  the  politicians  from  Dear- 
born and  Adams  amiably  agreed  to  console  them- 
selves for  the  nuisances  of  the  trip  by  getting 
as  much  fun  out  of  it  as  was  possible — which,  re- 
duced to  details,  meant  bringing  their  own  whiskey, 
sternly  avoiding  the  dangerous  local  well-water,  and 
throwing  at  each  other  during  the  dinner  scramble 
such  elements  of  the  repast  as  failed  to  attract  their 
metropolitan  tastes.  This  procedure  was  not  alto- 
gether to  the  liking  of  the  Tyre  landlords,  who,  how- 
ever, compensated  themselves  for  the  diminution  of 
the  bar  traffic  and  the  havoc  wrought  in  the  dining 
room,  by  quadrupling  their  accustomed  prices  ;  and 
the  invasion  of  boisterous  aliens  had  its  seamy  side 
for  the  women  of  the  place,  who  found  it  to  the 
advantage  of  their  dignity  to  stop  indoors  during 
the  day  which  their  husbands  and  fathers  con- 
secrated to  the  service  of  the  Republic.  But  Tyre 
as  a  whole  was  proud  and  gratified. 

On  the  morning  when  the  adjourned  District  Con- 
vention was  to  reassemble,  political  interest  throbbed 
with  feverish  quickness  in  all  the  pulses  of  Tyre. 


262  SetKs  Brothers    Wife. 

The  town  could  remember  many  a  desperate  and 
stirring  combat  on  its  well-worn  battle-field,  but 
never  such  a  resolute,  prolonged,  and  altogether 
delightful  contest  as  this.  The  fight  had  its  historic 
side,  too.  Every  voter  in  Tyre  could  remember,  or 
had  been  taught  in  all  its  details  about,  the  famous 
struggle  of  the  wet  fall  of  '34,  when  Hiram  Chesney, 
the  Warwick  of  Jay  County  then,  locked  horns  with 
the  elder  Seth  Fairchild  of  Dearborn,  and,  to  pursue 
the  local  phraseology,  they  pawed  up  more  earth  in 
their  fierce  encounter  than  would  dam  the  Nedahma 
creek.  Poor  Hiram  had  finally  been  worsted,  falling 
ignobly  on  his  native  stamping  ground,  before  the 
eyes  of  his  own  people.  He  had  long  since  passed 
away,  as  Warwicks  should  when  their  king-making 
sinews  have  lost  their  strength.  But  another  boss, 
perhaps  in  some  ways  a  greater  boss,  had  arisen  in 
Jay  County,  in  the  person  of  Abram  K.  Beekman, 
and  now,  nearly  half  a  century  later,  he  was  to  try 
conclusions  with  a  second  Fairchild  of  Dearborn — a 
grandson  of  the  hero  of  '34.  They  had  grappled 
once,  a  fortnight  before,  and  had  had  to  separate 
again,  after  an  all-day  tug,  with  a  fall  credited  to 
neither.  Now,  in  a  few  hours,  they  were  to  confront 
each  other  once  more.  What  wonder  that  Tyre 
was  excited ! 

The  two  gladiators  had  been  the  observed  of  all 
observers  during  the  preliminary  skirmish.  Tyre 
was  almost  disposed  to  fancy  the  Dearborn  man. 
In  his  portly,  black-clad  figure,  his  round,  close- 
shaven,  aquiline  face,  and  his  professional  capacity 


The  Convention  :  the  Boss.  263 

for  oratory,  he  had  recalled  pleasantly  the  days  when 
the  Jay  County  bar  was  famous.  The  local  magnate, 
Beekman,  was  not  a  lawyer ;  he  could  not  make  a 
speech ;  he  didn't  even  look  as  if  he  could  make  a 
speech.  He  had  none  of  the  affable,  taking  ways 
which  Albert  Fairchild  used  to  such  purpose,  but 
was  brusque,  self-contained,  prone  to  be  dogmatic 
when  he  was  not  taciturn.  Thus  the  balance  turned 
enough  in  Fairchild's  favor  to  about  offset  Beck- 
man's  claims  to  local  sympathy  as  a  Jayhawker, 
and  put  Tyre  people  in  excellent  mental  trim  to 
enjoy  all  the  points  of  the  duel. 

For  in  the  minds  of  these  practical  politicians,  it 
was  a  duel.  There  was  a  third  candidate,  named 
Ansdell,  it  was  true,  supported  by  nearly  all  the 
Adams  delegation,  but  then  he  was  a  reformer,  and 
had  not  even  come  to  the  Convention,  and  Tyre  had 
no  use  for  him.  A  county  boss  who  had  got  a  ma- 
chine, and  purposed  doing  certain  definite  things 
with  it,  either  to  build  up  himself  or  crush  some- 
body else,  was  natural  and  comprehensible ;  but  a 
man  who  set  himself  up  as  a  candidate,  without  the 
backing  of  any  recognized  political  forces,  who  came 
supported  by  delegates  elected  in  a  public  and  law- 
less manner  without  reference  to  the  wishes  of  lead- 
ers, and  who  pretended  that  his  sole  mission  in 
politics  was  to  help  purify  it — who  could  make  head 
or  tail  out  of  that  ? 

Thus  Tyreans  talked  with  one  another,  as  the  vil- 
lage began  to  take  on  an  air  of  liveliness  after  break- 
fast, and  groups  slowly  formed  on  the  sidewalks  in 


264  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

front  of  the  two  hotels.  There  were  many  shades 
of  diverging  opinion  as  to  the  merits  and  the  pros- 
pects of  the  approaching  contest,  but  on  one  matter 
of  belief  there  was  a  consensus  of  agreement.  The 
fight  lay  between  Beekman  and  Fairchild,  and  the 
third  man — it  was  interesting  to  note  that  ignorance 
of  his  name  was  fashionable — wasn't  in  the  race. 
Steve  Chesney,  whose  right  to  speak  oracularly  on 
politics  was  his  sole  inheritance  from  the  departed 
Warwick,  his  father,  summed  up  the  situation  very 
clearly  from  the  standpoint  of  Tyre  when  he  said, 
leaning  comfortably  against  the  post  office  hitching 
post,  and  pointing  his  arguments  in  the  right  places 
with  accurate  tobacco  juice  shots  at  a  crack  in  the 
curb: 

"  The  hull  p'int's  this :  Dearborn's  got  seventeen 
votes,  ain't  she  ? — solid  for  Fairchild.  Then  he's  got 
two  'n'  Adams,  ain't  he  ? — makin'  nineteen  'n'  all. 
Th'  dude,  he's  got  what's  left  of  Adams,  fifteen  'n' 
all.  Jay  County's  only  got  ten  votes,  ain't  she  ? 
Very  well,  they're  solid  for  Abe.  Now  !  Twenty- 
three's  a  majority  of  the  convention.  Git  twenty- 
three  'n'  that  settles  it.  Th'  reformer,  he  needs 
eight  votes.  Kin  he  git  'cm  ?  Whair  frum  ?  Frum 
Dearborn?  Not  much!  Frum  Jay?  Well,  not  this 
evening !  Count  him  out  then.  Of  th'  other  two, 
Fairchild  wants  four  votes,  Abe  needs  thirteen. 
Thet  looks  kind  o'  sickly  for  Abe,  mebbe  yeh  think. 
But  bear  in  mine  thet  th'  Adams  men  air  pledged 
agin'  Fairchild  by  th'  same  resolution  which  bines 
'em  to  th'  other  chap.  Abe  wasn't  a  candidate  then 


The  Convention  :  the  Boss.  265 

'n'  he  didn't  git  barred  out.  But  they  made  a  dead 
set  agin  Fairchild  all  through  Adams,  on  'count  of 
his  funny  work  at  th'  State  Convention.  So,  Adams 
kin  go  to  Abe,  'n'  she  can't  go  to  Fairchild.  I  tell 
yeh,  Jay  can't  be  beat,  ef  she's  only  a  mine  to  think 
so — thet  is,  of  course,  ef  Dearborn  fights  fair.  Ef 
she  don't,  p'raps  she  may  win  to-day,  but  I  tell  yeh, 
in  thet  case  ther  won't  be  enough  left  of  her  candi- 
date come  'lection  night  to  wad  a  hoss-pistol  with." 

The  Jay  County  delegates  had  begun  to  straggle 
into  town,  and  percolate  aimlessly  through  the 
throngs  in  and  about  the  bar-rooms,  listening  to  the 
discussions,  and  exchanging  compliments  and  small 
talk  with  acquaintances.  Pending  the  appearance 
of  their  leader  there  was  nothing  else  for  them  to 
do.  There  was  a  rumor  that  Abe  Beekman  was  in 
town,  sending  for  men  as  he  wanted  to  see  them,  one 
by  one,  but  nobody  professed  to  be  in  the  secret  of 
his  hiding  place,  and  nobody  dreamed  of  attempting 
to  find  out  what  Abe  wished  to  keep  dark. 

The  Adams  County  men,  delegates  and  others, 
came  over  the  hill  from  the  Spartacus  station  in  a 
carryall,  with  four  horses,  and  created  a  genuine 
sensation  as  they  drew  up  with  a  great  clatter  and 
splashing  of  mud  in  front  of  the  Nedahma  House, 
and  descended  jauntily  from  the  rear  step  to  the 
curb-stone.  The  natives  eyed  them  all  with  deep 
interest,  for  upon  their  action  depended  the  issue  of 
the  day,  but  there  was  a  special  excitement  in  watch- 
ing the  nine  delegates  with  stove-pipe  hats  and 
gloves,  and  tight  rolled  umbrellas,  who  came  from 


266  SetJts  Brother's   Wife. 

Tecumseh  itself.  Tecumseh  was  the  only  city  in  the 
district,  or  the  whole  section,  for  that  matter,  and 
Jay  County  people  timidly,  wistfully  dreamed  of  its 
gilded  temptations,  its  wild  revels  of  sumptuous 
gayety,  its  dazzling  luxuriance  of  life,  as  shepherd 
boys  on  the  plain  of  Dura  might  have  dreamed  of 
the  mysteries  and  marvels  of  Babylon.  It  was  some- 
thing, at  least,  to  touch  elbows  with  men  whose 
daily  life  was  passed  in  Tecumseh. 

Such  of  the  younger  Tyreans  as  had  been  intro- 
duced to  these  exalted  creatures  on  their  previous 
visit  crowded  around  them  now,  to  deferentially  re- 
new the  acquaintance,  and  shine  before  their  neigh- 
bors in  its  reflected  light. 

Then  the  news  filtered  through  the  groups  round 
about  that  Ansdell  himself  had  come  up  this  time, 
and  was  the  short,  wiry  little  man  with  the  drab 
overcoat  and  the  sharp  black  eyes.  This  aroused  a 
fleeting  interest,  and  there  was  some  standing  on 
tip-toe  to  get  a  good  view  of  him,  but  it  could  not 
last  long,  for  Ansdell  as  a  politician  was  not  a  tangi- 
ble thing  on  which  the  tendrils  of  Tyre's  imagination 
could  get  a  real  grip. 

It  was  of  more  importance  to  learn  whether  the 
views  of  the  Adams  delegates  had  undergone  any 
change — whether  a  new  light  had  dawned  upon  them 
in  the  interim.  They  submitted  graciously  to  the 
preliminary  test  of  drinks  at  the  bar,  and  pretended 
with  easy  affability  to  remember  distinctly  the  vari- 
ous Tyre  men  who  came  up  and  recalled  their  ac- 
quaintance of  a  fortnight  ago,  but  they  had  nothing 


The  Convention  :  the  Boss.  267 

to  say  that  was  to  the  purpose.  They  were  waiting  ; 
they  would  see  what  turned  up  ;  they  would  cer- 
tainly vote  for  Ansdell  on  the  first  ballot ;  further 
than  that  they  couldn't  say,  but  they  saw  no  reason 
now  why  they  shouldn't  keep  on  voting  for  him ; 
still,  perhaps  something  might  happen — this  and 
nothing  more. 

Meanwhile  there  was  an  uneasy  whisper  going 
the  rounds  to  the  effect  that  the  two  Adams  men 
who  had  previously  voted  for  Fairchild  were  now 
for  Ansdell,  having  succumbed  to  local  pressure 
during  the  fortnight.  The  story  could  not  be  veri- 
fied, for  the  two  gentlemen  in  question  had  secreted 
themselves  upon  their  arrival,  and  the  other  Adams 
men  only  grinned  bland  mystery  when  interrogated 
on  the  subject.  This  worried  the  Tyre  men  a  good 
deal  more  than  they  would  have  liked  to  admit,  but 
there  was  a  certain  element  of  pleasure  in  it,  too, 
for  it  added  piquancy  to  the  coming  fight. 

The  wooden  minute  hand  of  the  old  clock  on  the 
court  house  cupola  had  laboriously  twitched  along 
to  the  zenith  of  the  dial  once  more,  marking  ten 
o'clock  ;  only  half  an  hour  remained  now  before  the 
time  for  the  Convention  to  reassemble,  and  the 
Dearborn  delegates  were  still  absent.  People  be- 
gan to  stroll  toward  the  court  house,  and  casually 
attach  themselves  to  the  outskirts  of  the  cluster  of 
saturnine,  clean-shaven,  thin-featured  old  villagers, 
in  high  black  stocks  and  broad-brimmed  soft  hats, 
who  stood  on  the  steps,  behind  the  fluted  columns 
of  the  building's  ambitious  Grecian  front,  and  chewed 


268  SetJis  Brother's   Wife. 

tobacco  voraciously  while  they  set  up  the  rival 
claims  of  Martin  Van  Buren  and  Francis  Granger,  or 
mumblingly  wrangled  over  the  life  and  works  of  De 
Witt  Clinton.  These  old  men,  by  reason  of  the  an- 
tiquity and  single-heartedness  of  their  devotion  to 
their  country,  had  two  inalienable  and  confirmed 
rights :  to  sit  on  the  platform  close  by  the  speakers 
when  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  read  each 
Fourth  of  July  and  to  have  the  first  chance  for  seats 
when  the  doors  were  opened  at  a  political  Conven- 
tion. 

At  last  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  lingered  about 
the  Turnpike  Tavern  were  gladdened  by  the  sight 
of  the  Dearborn  crowd,  driving  furiously  up  in  three 
or  four  vehicles.  Milton  Squires  was  in  the  fore- 
most wagon,  and  he  was  the  first  to  alight. 

He  trembled  and  turned  around  swiftly  as  a  man 
laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  d'yeh  want  ?  "  he  demanded,  with  nervous 
alertness. 

The  man  whispered  in  his  ear  :  "  Abe  Beekman  is 
over  in  the  back  settin'  room  at  Blodgett's,  'n'  he 
wants  to  see  your  man  Fairchile  right  off." 

Milton  had  regained  his  composure.  "  So  do  I 
want  to  see  him.  Whair  abaouts  is  he  ?  I  was  to 
meet  him  here." 

"  There  ain't  been  no  sign  of  him  here,  this  mornin'. 
Nobuddy  'n  Tyre's  laid  eyes  on  him,  so  far's  I  kin 
fine  aout." 

"Thet's  cur'ous,"  said  Milton  reflectively.  "He 
started  to  drive  over  early  enough.  We  cum  by 


The  Convention :  the  Boss.  269 

train,  expectin'  to  fine  him  here.  P'raps  he's  seen 
Beekman  by  this  time,  on  th'  quiet." 

"  No,  he  ain't ! "  The  messenger's  tone  was 
highly  positive. 

"Then  mebbe  I'd  better  go  'n'  see  Beekman  my- 
self. Whair  is  Blodgett's  ?  " 

The  man  led  the  way  off  the  main  street,  to  a  big, 
clap-boarded,  dingy  white  house,  fronting  nowhere 
in  particular,  and  stopped  at  the  gate. 

"  Ain't  you  comin'  in  ?  "  Milton  asked  him. 

"  I  dasen't." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE   CONVENTION:    THE   NEWS. 

THERE  were  two  strange  men  in  the  low-ceilinged, 
grimly-furnished  "settin'  room,"  as  Milton  was 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  Boss,  but  at  a  gest- 
ure from  this  magnate  they  went  out ;  the  Boss 
surveyed  the  new  comer  without  a  word  of  greeting 
or  comment. 

Mr.  Beekman  was  a  tall,  angular  man,  past  the 
prime  of  life,  as  was  shown  by  the  gray  in  his  thick 
hair,  curling  at  the  ends,  and  in  the  stiff,  projecting 
ruff  of  beard  under  his  chin.  His  face  was  thin, 
hungry,  with  a  plaintive  effect  of  deep  lines,  and  his 
great  blue-black  eyes  were  often  tearful,  like  a  young 
robin's,  in  their  intent  watchfulness.  He  was  almost 
wholly  Dutch  in  parentage — of  that  silent,  persist- 
ent, quietly-masterful  race  which,  despite  all  the 
odds,  has  still  held  more  than  its  own  in  Stuyvesant's 
State — and  the  descent  showed  itself  in  the  dusky 
hue  of  his  skin.  He  had  never  been  a  wealthy  man, 
though  he  came  of  a  family  decently  supplied  with 
substance,  and  of  long  settlement  in  the  county.  He 
had  climbed  to  his  present  eminence  after  a  long 
career  in  local  politics,  by  that  process  of  exhaustion 
which  we  call  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Having  at- 


The  Convention :  the  News.          271 

tained  it,  his  rule  was  that  of  a  just  despot,  reward- 
ing and  binding  still  more  closely  to  him  the  faithful, 
remorselessly  crushing  all  signs  of  rivalry,  and  put- 
ting the  recalcitrant  without  pity  to  fire  and  sword. 
He  had  an  almost  supernatural  faculty  of  organizing 
information,  and  getting  at  the  motives  of  men.  He 
sniffed  treachery  as  a  deer  in  the  breeze  sniffs  the 
dog,  and  he  had  an  oriental  way  of  striking  with 
cruel  swiftness,  before  anybody  but  the  guilty  victim 
suspected  offence.  Withal,  he  was  a  kindly  man  to 
those  who  deserved  well  of  him,  an  upright  citizen 
according  to  his  lights,  and  a  profound  believer  in 
his  party. 

He  sat  now  chewing  an  unlighted  cigar,  with  his 
feet  on  the  hearth  of  the  stove,  and  contemplated 
Milton  at  his  leisure.  He  did  not  like  Milton  at  all, 
and  one  of  his  chief  reasons  for  doubting  the  real 
ability  of  Albert  Fairchild  was  his  choice  of  such  an 
agent  and  confidant.  At  last  he  said,  curtly : 

"It's  you,  is  it?  I've  got  no  business  with  you! 
Where's  Fairchild?" 

There  was  something  in  Beekman's  eager,  search- 
ing way  of  looking  at  a  man  with  those  big  bright 
eyes  of  his  which,  coupled  with  the  question,  em- 
barrassed Milton,  and  he  fumbled  with  his  hat  as  he 
repeated  the  explanation  he  had  given  to  the  mes- 
senger. He  was  annoyed  with  himself  for  being  thus 
disturbed. 

The  Boss  looked  his  visitor  out  of  countenance 
once  more.  Then  he  said :  "  Sit  daown !  Well, 
what  is  it  to  be  ?  " 


272  Set /is  Brothers   Wife. 

Milton  grinned,  and  leaned  forward  familiarly  in 
his  chair. 

"  I  sh'd  ruther  think  that  was  fur  you  to  say." 

"  Oh,  you  think  so,  do  yeh?  You  imagine  you've 
got  me  on  the  hip,  ay  ?  " 

"  Well,  p'raps  we're  no  jedge,  but  it  sorts  o'  looks 
that  way,  now,  don't  it?"  Milton  tipped  back  his 
chair,  satisfiedly,  and  put  one  of  his  big  feet  up  on 
the  hearth,  to  dispute  possession  with  the  Boss. 

Beekman  reflected  for  a  minute :  then  he  began, 
after  glancing  at  the  clock : 

"There's  no  time  to  waste.  I  might  as  well  talk 
up  'n'  daown  with  yeh.  Your  man  Fairchild  makes 
me  tired.  Ef  he'd  set  his  heart  on  goin'  to  Congress, 
why  on  airth  didn't  he  come  to  me  in  the  first  place, 
'n'  say  so  ?  It  could  'a*  been  arranged,  easy's  slidin' 
off  a  log.  But  no,  instid  of  that,  he  must  go  'n' 
v/ork  up  th'  thing  his  own  way,  'n'  then  come  'n' 
buck  agin  me  in  my  own  caounty,  'n'  obleege  me  to 
fight  back.  D'yeh  call  that  sense?  He's  smart 
enough  in  his  way,  I  grant  yeh.  He's  fixed  up  a 
putty  fair  sort  o'  organisation  in  Dearborn,  although 
it  can't  last  long,  simply  because  it's  all  built  up  on 
money,  'n'  I  don't  go  a  cent  on  that  kind  of  organ- 
ising. Still  it's  good  enough  in  its  way.  But,  he 
made  his  mistake  in  lettin'  the  idea  run  away  with 
him  that  he  could  skeer  me  into  a  conniption  fit 
with  his  musharoon  organisation.  He  didn't  knaow 
me.  He  never  took  the  trouble  to  find  aout  abaout 
me.  He  jest  took  it  fur  granted  that  I'd  crawl  daown 
aout  o'  my  tree,  like  Davy  Crockett's  coon,  as  soon's 


The  Convention  :  the  News.  2  73 

he  pinted  his  gun  at  me.  Well,  I  didn't  come  worth 
a  cent.  Then,  when  he  faound  aout  that  he'd  struck 
a  snag,  V  that  Dearborn  County  wasn't  the  hull 
deestrick,  he  turns  raoun'  'n'  aouts  with  his  wallet, 
'n'  tries  to  hire  me  to  come  daown.  Fur  that's  what 
you  was  here  for  last  week,  'n'  you  knaow  it  's  well's 
I  do." 

Milton  tried  to  get  in  some  words  here,  of  dis- 
sent or  explanation,  but  the  Boss  would  not  hear 
them. 

"  Lem  me  go  on  ;  's  no  use  your  lyin'.  That  was 
Fairchild's  second  mistake.  He  thought  politics 
was  all  money.  Ef  I  was  poorer  than  Job's  turkey, 
he  couldn't  buy  me  to  so  much  as  wink  an  eye  fur 
him.  I'm  not  in  politics  fur  what  I  kin  make  aout 
of  it.  I'm  in  because  I  like  it  ;  because  it's  meat  'n' 
drink  to  me ;  because  I  git  solid,  substantial  com- 
fort aout  of  it.  Ther's  satisfaction  in  carryin'  yer 
eend  ;  there's  pretty  nigh  as  much  in  daownin'  them 
that's  agin  yeh.  Jest  naow  I'm  a  thinkin'  a  good 
deal  what  fun  it  *d  be  to  let  the  floor  aout  from 
under  your  man  altogether,  'n'  nominate  this  feller 
from  Tecumsy." 

"  But,"  broke  in  Milton,  "  you're  a  candidate  yer- 
self,  'n' " 

"  Wait  till  I'm  threw,  will  yeh  ?  I  said,  I'm  leanin' 
a  good  deal  jest  naow  to'rd  this  man  from  Tecumsy. 
I  c'd  beat  him  easy  'nough  at  the  polls,  ef  he  turned 
cranky,  but  I  daoubt  ef  it  'd  be  wuth  while.  I  ain't 
seen  him  yet,  but  I'm  told  he's  here,  'n'  ef  I  like  his 
looks  durn  me  ef  I  ain't  a  mine  to  nominate  him. 

18 


274  SetJis  Brotfors   Wife. 

He  can't  do  no  harm,  even  ef  he  tries.  These  re- 
form spurts  don't  winter  well.  They  never  last  till 
spring.  The  boys  lose  their  breath  for  a  few  months. 
But  then  they  git  daown  to  work  agin,  and  baounce 
the  reformers  to  the  back  seats  where  they  belong. 
But  it  'd  be  one  thing  to  elect  a  high-toned,  kid- 
gloved,  butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-maouth  kind  o' 
man  like  what's-his-name,  'n'  a  hoss  o'  quite  another 
color  to  'lect  Fairchild.  Hed  make  me  trouble  from 
the  word  '  go ! '  Understan',  I  ain't  afraid  of  his 
meddlin'  with  me  here  in  Jay  caounty ;  not  a  bit  of 
it.  But  he'd  use  his  position  to  cripple  me  in  the 
deestrick.  The  present  Congressman  tried  that  on 
— 'n'  you  ain't  so  much  as  heerd  his  name  mentioned 
fur  a  re-nomination.  But  it  was  bother  'nough  to 
squelch  him.  I  ain't  goin'  to  hev  it  to  do  all  over 
agin." 

"  Right  you  air,  tew  !  "  Milton  responded. 

The  Boss  held  up  his  hand  to  forbid  further  inter- 
ruption, while  he  looked  curiously  at  his  visitor,  as 
if  puzzled  by  his  acquiescence.  He  went  on : 

"  Ef  you  was  a  man  of  any  readin'  you'd  hev 
heerd  of  a  custom  among  Europe-ian  kentries,  when 
one  whips  another,  of  makin'  the  under  dog  in  the 
fight  pull  aout  his  front  teeth,  like.  The  beaten 
kentry  has  to  tear  daown  its  forts,  'n'  blow  up  its 
men-o'-war,  'n'  so  on,  jest  as  a  guarantee  not  to 
make  any  more  trouble.  Well,  ef  I'd  concluded  to 
hev  any  dealin's  at  all  with  Fairchild,  that's  what  I'd 
hev  done  with  him.  I'd  'a'  made  him  turn  over  the 
appintment  of  all  Dearborn's  men  on  the  deestrick 


The  Convention:  the  News.          275 

Committee ;  V  I'd  'a  had  a  written  agreement  that 
half  the  Postmasters  in  Adams  'n'  Dearborn,  as  well 
as  all  in  Jay,  should  be  o'  my  namin'.  My  wife's 
brother  should  hev  hed  the  Thessaly  post  office,  tew, 
right  under  Fairchild's  nose,  so's  to  keep  an  eye  on 
him.  It's  the  duty  of  every  man  to  purvide  for  his 
own  fam'ly." 

"  Nothin'  small  about  you  !  You  only  wanted  the 
hull  airth  !  "  chuckled  Milton,  ingratiatingly. 

"  No,  it  was  Fairchild  who  wanted  the  airth  'n' 
thought  he'd  got  it,  'n'  while  he  was  deliberatin' 
whether  he'd  have  it  braowned  on  both  sides  or  not, 
lo  'n'  behold !  I  went  in  'n'  took  it  away  from  him 
slick  'n'  clean." 

The  Boss  rose  as  he  was  speaking,  reached  for  his 
overcoat  and  put  it  on.  "  Time's  up ! "  he  said, 
sententiously. 

Milton  had  risen  too,  and  placed  himself  between 
Beekman  and  the  door.  "There's  seven  minutes 
yit,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  I've  got  something  yeh  can't 
afford  to  miss.  Don't  you  want  th'  nomination  yer- 
self?" 

"  No.  What  good  'd  Washington  be  to  me  ?  New 
York  State's  big  enough  for  me.  If  yeh  don't  un 
derstand  that  I  put  my  name  before  the  Convention 
jest  to  hold  my  caounty  together,  'n'  block  Dear- 
born, yer  a  dummed  sight  bigger  fool  than  even  I 
took  yeh  to  be." 

"  But  s'pose  Dearborn's  votes  cud  be  thrown  to 
you  !  They'd  nominate  yeh  !  What  'd  thet  be  wuth 
to  yeh?" 


276  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

"Whlat  'd  it  be  wuth?"  mused  the  Boss,  looking 
intently  at  Milton. 

"  Yes  !  in  ready  money,  here  !  naow  !  " 
The  Boss  took  up  his  hat,  meditatively,  and  gazed 
at  his  companion  again.  "  Did  you  knaow  th'  man 
that  brought  yeh  here  ?  "  he  asked. 
"Yes — 'twas  Jim  Bunner,  wa'nt  it?" 
"  That  man  'd  wade  threw  fire  'n'  water  fer  me. 
Yeh  couldn't  tempt  him  with  a  hundred  thaousan' 
dollars  to  so  much  as  say  an  evil  word  abaout  me, 
let  alone  injure  me.  Yit  he's  desprit  poor,  'n'  th' 
unly  thing  I  ever  did  fer  him  in  my  life,  excep'  givin' 
him  a  day's  work  naow  'n'  then,  was  to  help  him 
bury  his  child  decently,  ten  years  ago.  But  /know 
my  men  !  Here  Fairchild  has  took  you  off  a  dung- 
hill, where  all  yer  hull  humly,  sore-eyed,  misrubble 
fam'ly  belong,  'n'  made  a  man  of  yeh,  trusted  his  af- 
fairs to  yeh,  clothed  yeh,  fed  yeh,  yes,  'n'  let  yeh  fat- 
ten yerself  on  the  profits  of  his  farm — and  naow  yeh 
turn  'raound  'n'  offer  to  sell  him  aout.  By  gum !  I 
was  right.  Fairchild  hain't  got  no  sense !  'N'  you, 
yeh  skunk,  git  aout !  Don't  yeh  walk  on  the  same 
side  of  the  street  with  me,  or  I'll  swat  the  hull  top 
of  yer  head  off !  " 

"  We'll  nominate  Ansdell  'fore  you  git  a  chance  !  " 
snarled  Milton. 

The  Convention  met,  depressed  by  the  evident 
feeling  of  disappointment  among  the  spectators, 
who  swarmed  on  all  the  high,  pewlike  seats  back  of 
the  bar  railing,  while  the  delegates  sat  in  rows  of 
chairs  inside  the  space  reserved  in  term  time  for  the 


The  Convention:  the  News.  277 

lawyers.  There  was  ground  enough  for  this  disap- 
pointment. Fairchild  had  not  come,  and  the  pros- 
pects of  a  good  speech,  or  even  a  bitter  personal 
contest,  were  fading  away.  No  one  had  an  explana- 
tion for  his  absence.  The  Dearborn  delegates  were 
more  in  the  dark  than  outsiders  even,  for  they  had 
been  told  to  meet  him  in  Tyre,  before  the  Conven- 
tion, and  that  he  would  breakfast  at  the  Turnpike 
Tavern.  Milton  reassured  them  for  a  time  by  en- 
larging upon  the  bad  condition  of  the  roads,  but 
even  he  ended  as  they  took  their  seats,  by  professing 
some  fear  of  an  accident.  "  However,  I'll  cast  th' 
solid  vaote,  th'  same  as  before,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  said, 
and  the  bondsmen  nodded  assent. 

The  proceedings  opened  tamely.  The  Chairman 
was  a  professor  from  the  Tecumseh  Academy ;  the 
other  counties  each  had  a  secretary.  Two  written 
announcements  were  handed  up  to  be  read,  one  that 
Milton  Squires  was  authorized  to  cast  seventeen 
votes  for  Dearborn  County,  the  other  naming  a  man 
to  perform  a  similar  function  for  the  ten  votes  of 
Jay.  There  was  to  be  no  break  yet  awhile,  appar- 
ently, in  the  two  machine  counties.  But — what 
would  Adams  do  ? 

As  this  question  flashed  through  the  minds  of  the 
assemblage,  one  of  the  Adams  delegates  rose,  walked 
to  the  bench,  gave  a  paper  to  the  presiding  officer, 
and  then  joined  the  little  throng  of  spectators  to 
one  side.  Did  this  mean  that  he  left  the  Conven- 
tion ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  Experienced  observers 
began  to  feel  that  something  startling  was  coming. 


278  Setlis  Brother's   Wife. 

The  paper  being  read,  turned  out  to  be  an  an- 
nouncement that  Abram  K.  Beekman  had  been 
substituted  in  the  Adams  County  delegation  for  the 
delegate  who  had  just  vacated  his  seat,  and  as  the 
words  died  away  the  Boss  himself  pushed  his  way 
down  the  aisle,  threw  his  long  leg  over  the  bar-rail, 
and  took  his  seat.  The  master  of  Jay  County  get- 
ting substituted  for  Adams  County — here  was  a 
mystery !  Did  it  portend  that  Adams  had  been 
won  for  Beekman's  candidature?  Yes,  it  must 
mean  that — and  Tyre's  heart  leapt  for  joy.  Or  no 
— it  couldn't  mean  that.  The  Boss  would  hardly 
thrust  himself  forward  in  that  brash  way  if  he  were 
sure  of  winning — and  Tyre's  heart  sank  again, 
sadly. 

The  Chairman  announced  that  balloting  would  be 
resumed  ;  that  the  counties  would  be  called  in  alpha- 
betical order,  and  that,  in  the  case  of  Adams  County, 
which  did  not  signify  a  desire  to  vote  as  a  unit,  the 
names  of  the  delegates  would  also  be  called  in  that 
order.  Before  the  words  were  fairly  out  of  his  mouth 
a  hundred  shrewd  brains  had  discovered  that  this 
meant  Beekman's  being  the  first  name  called.  But 
what  was  his  game  ? 

So  perplexed  were  the  men  of  Tyre  with  this  prob- 
lem that  they  almost  forgot  to  cheer  when  their 
man  rose  to  his  feet,  in  response  to  his  name.  It 
was  rarely  that  one  saw  Abe  Beekman  in  Conven- 
tions; he  preferred  to  run  them  from  the  outside; 
and  no  one  in  the  hall  had  ever  heard  him  make  a 
speech.  Imagine  how  they  listened  now  ! 


The  Convention:  the  News.  279 

He  spoke  with  an  almost  boyish  nervousness,  rest- 
ing his  hands  on  the  table  before  him,  and  clinging, 
as  it  were,  with  his  eyes  to  the  Chairman  for  support. 
What  he  said  was  brief,  to  the  point,  and  worth  re- 
peating here  : 

"  I  got  substituted,  ez  p'raps  some  of  yeh  hev 
guessed,  because  I  wanted  a  word  at  the  very  start. 
I  hev  my  reasons.  I  ain't  a'  goin'  to  mention  no 
names — "  he  darted  a  swift,  significant  glance  over 
toward  the  Dearborn  County  men,  singling  out  Mil- 
ton for  a  second,  then  reverting  his  troubled  gaze  to 
the  Chairman — "  but  I  kin  feel  it  in  my  bones  that 
things  ain't  on  the  square  here.  Ther's  a  nigger  in 
the  fence,  Mebbe  it's  no  business  of  mine  to  yank 
him  aout,  but  it's  only  fair  to  my  caounty  that  we 
shouldn't  let  anybody  git  ahead  of  us  in  doin'  what 
we  want  to  dew.  It's  trew  that  D.  comes  ahead  o' 
J.  in  the  alph'bet,  but  " — and  there  was  a  momentary 
relaxation  of  his  eager,  sombre  face  as  he  enunciated 
this  undoubted  fact — "  its  jest  as  trew  that  A.  comes 
in  front  o'  D.  Ef  any  set  o'  men — mind,  I  mention 
no  names,  but — ef  any  set  o'  delegates  come  here 
with  the  idee  o'  sellin'  their  man  aout,  or  o'  makin' 
a  combination  which'll  put  them  solid  with  the  next 
Congressman,  and  leave  Jay  aout  in  the  cold,  per- 
haps 'fore  I'm  threw  they'll  see  thet  they  bit  off 
more'n  their  jaws  could  wag. 

"  Mr.  Cheerman,  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Congress. 
I  never  V  hed  the  least  hankerin'  after  it.  This 
State  of  aours  is  good  enough  for  me.  I  wouldn't 
feel  like  myself  ef  I  had  to  stan'  'raoun*  'n'  see  chaps 


280  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

from  Rhode  Island  or  Floridy  puttin'  on  airs,  and 
pretendin'  to  cut  as  big  a  swath  as  New  York  did. 
I'm  too  much  of  a  State  man  fer  thet.  I'd  be  itchin' 
to  jump  on  'em  all  the  while.  So  I  want  to  say 
that  I  withdraw  my  name " 

The  Hon.  Elhanan  Pratt  rose  here,  his  weazen 
little  figure  coming  up  with  a  spring  like  a  jack-in- 
the-box,  and  squeaked  out  sharply :  "  I  rise  to  a 
point  of  order.  The  Abram  K.  Beekman  whose 
name  is  before  this  Convention  is  a  Jay  County  man, 
nominated  by  Jay  County,  and  voted  for  alone  by 
Jay  County.  No  Adams  County  man  " — there  was 
an  elaborate  sarcasm  in  the  tone — "  has  any  right  to 
withdraw  that  name." 

"The  point  of  order  is  well  taken,"  said  the  Chair. 

"  Well,  in  thet  case  I  won't  ask  to  withdraw  my 
name,"  responded  Beekman.  "  But  I  don't  think 
it'll  make  much  differ'nce.  A  wink  is  as  good  as  a 
nod  to  a  bline  man.  P'raps  you  kin  git  an  idee  by 
this  time  haow  the  Jay  caounty  cat's  goin'  to  jump  ; 
p'raps  you  can't.  I'm  goin'  to  vaote  fer  Mr.  Richard 
Ansdell,  V  I  wan'  to  say " 

He  was  interrupted  here  by  a  stout,  sharp  burst 
of  hand-clapping  from  the  Adams  delegates,  and 
the  few  Adams  men  in  the  audience.  The  Tyre 
crowd  were  taken  aback  for  an  instant,  and  sat  be- 
wildered ;  then  the  fact  that  their  man  had  played 
his  game,  and  was  acting  as  if  he  had  won,  inspired 
them  to  join  tumultuously  in  the  applause,  though 
they  were  in  total  darkness  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
stakes  played  for. 


The  Convention:  the  News.  281 

The  Boss  went  on :  "I  wan'  to  say  that  I've 
never  laid  eyes  on  him  but  once,  V  never  spoke  a 
word  with  him  in  my  life.  But  I  ain't  lived  all  this 
while  'thaout  learnin'  to  read  somethin*  of  a  man's 
natur'  in  his  face.  I  believe  he's  honest  and  straight- 
aout ;  I  don't  believe  there's  a  crookid  hair  in  his 
head.  P'raps  he's  got  some  naotions  that  we'd  look 
on  as  finnickin'  up  here  in  Jay,  but  I  ain't  afeard  o' 
them.  It's  better  to  hev  a  man  standin'  so  upright 
thet  he  bends  back'rd,  then  to  hev —  to  hev —  the 
fact  is,  Mr.  Cheerman,  I  think  I've  said  'baout 
enough.  Th'  other  candidate  hain't  showed  up  to- 
day !  P'raps  it's  jest  as  well  fur  him  that  he  hain't. 
I  guess  he'll  consider  that  he's  got  abaout  threw 
with  deestrick  politics — but  I  don't  want  to  appear 
to  be  rubbin'  it  in.  The  lawyers  hev  a  Latin  sayin' 
abaout  speakin'  nothin'  but  good  o'  the  dead " 

Beekman  stopped  short.  The  Chairman  had  risen 
to  his  feet.  Half  the  delegates  had  followed  his 
example,  and  were  gazing  intently  at  one  of  the  tall, 
small-paned  windows  on  the  right  side  of  the  room. 
The  three  reporters  who  were  sitting  in  the  clerk's 
desk  had  begun  climbing  over  the  rails  and  weaving 
their  way  between  the  chairs  toward  this  same  win- 
dow. A  hum  of  rising  murmurs  was  running  through 
the  audience.  Beekman,  finding  suddenly  that  he 
had  no  auditors,  and  disconcerted  at  the  interrup- 
tion, looked  about  the  room  for  a  moment,  in  search 
of  an  explanation.  Then  he  followed  the  direction 
of  the  faces,  and  saw  his  retainer,  Jim  Bunner,  clam- 
bering in  under  the  lifted  sash,  and  making  strenu- 


282  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

ous,  almost  frantic,  efforts  meanwhile  to  attract  his 
attention. 

The  man  was  breathless  with  excitement.  He 
had  climbed  to  the  window  from  the  roof  of  a  low 
adjoining  shed,  and  he  could  be  heard  now,  as  he 
found  a  footing  on  the  back  of  a  bench,  in  panting 
explanation  of  his  conduct :  "  I  hedio  come  this  way ! 
It  'd  'a  taken  me  tew  long  to've  got  threw  the  crowd 
at  th'  door.  I've  got  news  for  th'  Boss  that  won't 
keep  a  second !  " 

He  had  pushed  his  way  roughly  through  the 
throng  now,  brushing  the  reporters  aside  with  espe- 
cial impatience,  and  stood  whispering,  gasping  his 
tidings  in  Beekman's  ear.  The  assemblage,  silent 
now  as  the  midnight  watch,  read  in  the  deepening 
shadows  and  shocked  severity  of  the  Boss's  face 
that  something  far  out  of  the  ordinary  had  happened. 
Beekman  appeared  to  be  asking  some  questions,  and 
pondering  the  whispered  answers  with  increasing 
emotion. 

The  waiting  hundreds,  all  on  their  feet  now, 
watched  him  in  a  tremor  of  expectation. 

At  last  he  spoke,  in  a  low,  changed,  yet  extremely 
distinct  voice : 

"  Mr.  Cheerman,  when  I  spoke  abaout  sayin' 
nothin'  but  good  o'  th'  dead,  I  spoke  unbeknaown 
to  myself  like  a  prophet.  My  friend  here  brings 
some  awful  news.  Mr.  Fairchild  o'  Dearborn  has 
jest  been  faound,  stark  'n'  cold,  crunched  under  his 
hosses  'n'  carriage,  at  the  bottom  of  Tallman's  ra- 
vine ! " 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

"YOU   THOUGHT  I  DID    IT!" 

WHEN  Seth  awoke  next  morning,  the  position  of 
the  shadow  cast  by  the  thick  green-paper  curtain 
which  covered  the  upper  half  of  his  window,  told  his 
practised  faculties  that  it  was  very  late,  and  impelled 
him  to  get  out  of  bed,  before  he  began  at  all  to  re- 
member the  several  momentous  events  of  the  previ- 
ous evening.  As  he  dressed  he  strove  to  get  these 
arranged  in  their  proper  order  in  his  mind.  Curi- 
ously enough  there  were  certain  inchoate  recollec- 
tions of  feminine  screams,  of  bursts  of  hysterical 
sobbing,  of  low  but  rough  and  strange  male  voices, 
doleful  and  haunting,  which  confusedly  struggled 
for  place  in  his  sleepy  thoughts,  and  seemed  now  to 
be  a  part  of  the  evening's  occurrences,  now  to  be- 
long to  this  present  morning,  and  to  have  come  to 
him  while  he  was  nearing  the  end  of  his  sleep. 

As  he  passed  his  Aunt  Sabrina's  door  on  his  way 
to  the  stairs,  he  heard  from  within  this  same  sound 
of  suppressed  weeping.  This  much  at  least  of  the 
unlocated  recollections  must  have  belonged  to  the 
first  stages  of  his  waking.  "  Another  quarrel  with 
Isabel  ! "  he  thought,  as  he  descended  the  stairs. 
"  Why  is  it  that  v/omen  must  always  be  rowing  it 

283 


284  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

with  each  other !  "  Then  his  own  dispute  with  Al- 
bert came  fresh  and  overpowering  in  distinctness  of 
impression  across  his  mind,  and  the  grounds  of  his 
grievance  against  the  temper  of  the  other  sex  faded 
away. 

The  living-room  was  vacant — the  breakfast  table 
still  standing  in  the  disorder  of  a  meal  just  finished, 
and  the  shades  down  as  though  the  day  had  not  yet 
begun,  although  the  clock  showed  it  to  be  past  ten. 
One  of  the  folding  doors  of  the  parlor  was  open  and 
he  heard  Isabel's  voice — it  struck  him  as  being 
strangely  altered  toward  harshness  of  fibre — calling 
him  to  enter. 

She  stood,  as  he  remembered  her  once  before,  in 
front  of  the  piano.  In  the  dusk  of  the  drawn  cur- 
tains— how  gloomy  and  distrait  everything  about 
the  house  was  this  morning  ! — her  figure  was  not 
very  clearly  visible,  but  her  face  was  so  pale  that  it 
seemed  to  be  independent  of  any  light.  Her  eyes 
had  the  effect  of  slight  distention,  and,  in  the  shadow, 
were  singularly  dark  of  tint.  They  were  gazing  at 
him  with  a  strange,  intent,  troubled  look,  and  the 
expression  of  the  pallid  face  went  with  this  to  dis- 
turb him  vaguely.  He  said  to  himself,  in  the  mo- 
ment of  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  that  he  must  keep 
his  troth  with  Annie  resolutely  in  mind,  and,  if  needs 
be,  not  shrink  from  avowing  and  standing  by  it. 

Isabel  did  not  offer  him  her  hand,  or  tender  him 
any  greeting  whatever ;  only  looked  him  through 
and  through  with  that  searching,  unaccustomed 
gaze. 


"You   Thought  I  Did  It !"          285 

"  I  wouldn't  let  them  call  you,"  she  said  at  last, 
speaking  slowly,  as  if  with  an  effort  to  both  form 
these  words,  and  repress  others.  "  I  knew  that  you 
needed  the  sleep." 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  put  anybody  out  by  my  laziness. 
But  it  is  such  a  relief  to  be  able  to  sleep  like  that 
once  in  a  while,  instead  of  having  to  get  down  to  the 
office  by  eight." 

"I  heard  you  go  out  last  night.  I  heard  you 
come  in  this  morning.  But  not  another  soul  in  the 
house  suspects  that  you  were  out ;  not  one ! " 

The  tone  was  unmistakably  solemn,  and  weighted 
with  deep  feeling  of  some  sort.  Seth  uneasily  felt 
that  a  scene  was  impending,  though  he  could  not 
foresee  its  form.  He  felt,  too,  that  the  part  he  must 
play  in  it  would  of  necessity  be  an  awkward  one. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  the  night  seemed  too  fine 
to  stay  in  doors.  Besides,  I  was  nervous,  and  it  did 
me  good  to  walk  it  off.  You  can't  imagine  how 
light-hearted  I  was  when  I  returned,  or — for  that 
matter — how  heavy-hearted  when  I  went  out." 

«  Seth ! " 

The  word  came  forth  like  the  red  flash  from  clouds 
which  can  no  longer  retain  their  pent-up,  warring, 
swelling  forces — an  interjection  of  passion,  of  dread, 
of  infinite  troubling,  of  doubt  wreathed  in  struggle 
with  pain.  She  swayed  slightly  toward  him,  her 
hands  clasped  and  stretched  down  and  forward  with 
a  gesture  of  excessive  perturbation,  her  great  eyes 
lustrous  with  the  excitement  of  this  battle  of  emo- 
tions. Seth  fancied  that  the  dominant  meaning  of 


286  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

the  look  was  reproach.  He  could  not  in  the  least 
see  his  way  through  the  dilemma,  or  even  understand 
it.  He  could  only  say  to  himself  that  the  enchant- 
ment was  ended,  and  that,  come  what  might,  he 
would  not  forget  Annie. 

The  woman  glided  a  step  nearer  to  him.  She 
put  one  hand  to  her  brow  with  a  sudden  movement, 
and  rested  the  other  upon  the  piano,  as  if  all  at 
once  conscious  of  needing  support.  With  a  painful 
little  laugh,  hysterically  incongruous,  she  said : 

"  I  am  almost  beside  myself,  am  I  not  ?  I  can  not 
speak  to  you,  it  seems !  And  yet  there  is  so  much 
to  say — or  no  !  isn't  silence  better  still  ?  "  Her  voice 
trembled  as  she  went  on:  "  For  what  could  we  say? 
How  meaningless  all  our  words  would  be  in  the  face 
Of_  of ." 

She  swept  both  hands  to  her  eyes,  with  an  im- 
petuous gesture.  Her  form  seemed  to  totter  for  a 
moment,  so  that  Seth  instinctively  moved  toward 
her.  Then  with  a  wild  outburst  of  sobs  she  threw 
herself  upon  his  breast,  convulsed  with  incessant 
paroxysms  of  passionate  weeping. 

They  stood  thus  together  for  some  minutes.  The 
young  man,  moved  to  great  tenderness  by  her  evi- 
dent suffering,  the  cause  of  which  he  vaguely  re- 
ferred to  the  previous  evening's  events,  put  his  arm 
about  her,  whispered  gently  to  her  to  be  comforted, 
and  stroked  her  hair  with  a  soft,  caressing  touch. 
His  hand  touched  her  cheek,  and  she  shuddered  at 
the  contact ;  then  swiftly  took  the  hand  in  hers,  and 
raised  it  to  her  lips,  murmuring  between  the  sobs: 


"You   Thought  /  Did  It/"          287 

"  Ungrateful !  was  it  not  done  for  me  ?  Ah,  dear, 
I  shall  not  shudder  again." 

She  kissed  the  hand  repeatedly,  and  pressed  it  to 
her  bosom,  as  she  spoke.  She  was  still  trembling 
like  a  leaf  in  his  arms. 

What  could  it  all  mean  ?  he  asked  himself — and 
found  no  answer. 

"  We  must  be  brave,  dear,"  she  whispered  now. 
"  We  must  be  on  our  guard  every  instant !  Oh — h  ! 
they  shall  tear  my  heart  out  before  they  learn  any- 
thing— so  much  as  a  syllable !  We  must  keep  our 
nerves."  She  looked  up  into  his  astonished  face, 
with  almost  a  smile  in  her  effort  to  strengthen  his 
courage.  "  We  will  be  brave,  won't  we,  mine  ?  The 
test  will  come  soon  now.  Perhaps  in  an  hour  they 
will  bring — it  /  " 

The  trembling  seized  her  frame,  and  shook  it  with 
cruel  force.  She  buried  her  face  in  his  breast  with 
a  long,  low  cry  of  anguish,  and  sobbed  there  piteously, 
clinging  to  his  hand  still.  Once  she  bent  as  if  to 
kiss  it  again,  but  stopped,  then  turned  her  head 
aside,  groaning  "  Oh  how  terrible  !  how  terrible  !  " 

The  mystification  now  demanded  light  of  some 
sort. 

"  What  is  it  that  is  so  terrible,  my  poor  girl  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  What  are  they  going  to  bring  in  an  hour? 
Tell  me,  Isabel — my  sweet  sister — what  does  it  all 
mean  ?  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  with  flickering  sug- 
gestions of  a  mechanical  smile  at  the  corners  of  her 
pale  lips,  and  with  soft  reproach  in  her  eyes : 


288  Settis  Brothers    Wife. 

"  Are  you  going  to  pretend  to  me,  too,  dear  one  ? 
As  if  it  were  not  all  here  in  my  heart — all,  all !  Ah, 
they  shan't  get  it !  They  shan't  get  the  shadow  of 
a  hint.  You  were  home  here  all  the  while !  You 
were  asleep,  sound  asleep !  If  it  be  necessary,  I 
could  swear  that  I  knew  you  were  asleep,  that — but 
no,  there  might  be  suspicion  then.  That  we  mustn't 
have  !  Don't  fear  for  me,  dear  one  !  I  shall  be  so 
discreet,  so  circumspect,  watching,  weighing  every 
word !  But  oh — h —  shall  we  dream  of  it  ?  What 
if  we  should,  and  should  cry  out  in  our  sleep — Oh-h, 
my  God  !  my  God  !  " 

She  sank  again,  convulsively  clutching  his  hand, 
and  quivering  with  feverish  sobs  upon  his  breast. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what 
you  are  talking  about,  Isabel !  Do  try  and  be  calm, 
and  tell  me  what  it  is !  " 

"  He  asks  me  !  "  she  cried,  with  the  same  jarring, 
painful  half-laugh  he  had  heard  before. 

He  held  her  from  him,  so  that  he  might  look  into 
her  face. 

"  Come,  come  !  You  are  acting  like  a  tragedy- 
queen  on  the  stage.  Do  be  sensible,  and  tell  me 
what  the  matter  is.  You  make  me  out  of  patience 
with  you !  " 

He  spoke  in  the  vexed  tone  of  a  man  needlessly 
perplexed  with  foolish  mysteries.  To  her  strained 
senses  the  simple  expression  of  impatience  was  cruel 
mockery.  She  drew  herself  still  further  back  from 
him,  and  dropped  his  hand.  She  was  able  to  speak 
collectedly  now : 


"You   Thought  I  Did  It!"          289 

"  It  is  you  who  are  the  actor.  You  persist  in  play- 
ing the  part — to  me  /  " 

"  Still  in  riddles !     What  part,  Isabel  ?  " 

"  You  will  have  me  tell  you  ?  You  want  to  hear 
the  thing — in  words  ?  " 

"  Yes,  by  all  means." 

She  had  never  once  taken  her  frightened,  fasci- 
nated gaze  from  his  face.  "  You  insist  on  hearing 
from  my  lips  that  while  you  were  out  last  night  your 
brother  was  murdered " 

"  What  ! " 

"  Murdered  not  four  miles  from  here,  as  he  was 
driving  on  the  road,  and  his  body  thrown  down  into 
a  ravine.  Some  boys  found  it.  Fortunately,  every- 
body thinks  it  was  an  accident.  The  men  who 
brought  the  news  thought  so." 

She  had  spoken  the  words  coldly,  as  if  they  were 
commonplaces  and  had  been  learnt  by  rote ;  but  all 
the  passion  of  her  being  was  flaming  in  her  eyes, 
which  transfixed  him  with  their  stare. 

"  Mur-dered  !  "  the  young  man  stammered,  feeling 
his  senses  reeling.  "  Albert  murdered !  Oh-h  this 
must  be  nonsense  !  It  is  too  terrible  to  think  of 
even  !  You  are  out  of  your  mind,  Isabel!  " 

Her  lips  quivered:  "  It  would  be  no  wonder  if  I 
were,  after  this  !  " 

The  darkened  rooms,  the  sobbing  of  his  Aunt  up- 
stairs, the  sounds  of  anguish  that  he  knewnow  had  par- 
tially awakened  him,  the  crazed  demeanor  of  Isabel — 
all  these  rose  around  him,  like  a  black  fog,  to  choke 
and  confound  his  mind.  Her  fixed  gaze  burned  him. 
19 


290  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  know  !  "  he  cried,  wildly. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  easier  to  tell  me  what  you  know  ?  " 

The  chilling  tone  of  the  words  startled  him,  as 
might  a  sudden  contact  of  warm  flesh  with  ice,  be- 
fore his  bewildered  brain  had  grasped  their  meaning. 
Then,  like  the  crimson,  all-pervading  outburst  of  a 
conflagration,  the  thing  dawned  upon  him,  and  his 
thoughts  seemed  blood-red  in  its  hideous  light.  He 
pushed  her  from  him  fiercely,  returning  her  piteous 
look  of  fright  with  a  glare,  and  biting  his  tongue  for 
words  that  should  be  great  enough  to  fairly  over- 
whelm her.  As  she  cowered,  he  strode  toward  her: 

"  You  thought  I  did  it ! "  he  shouted  at  her. 

Her  only  answer  was  to  bury  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  sink  weakly  at  his  knees. 

He  stood  relentlessly  glowering  down  upon  her. 
The  bitter,  brutal  words  that  might  be  heaped  upon 
her,  nay,  that  ought  to  be,  crowded  upon  his  tongue. 
It  was  too  great  a  task  to  restrain  them,  to  keep 
silence. 

"  You  thought  /  did  it,"  he  repeated.  "  And  you 
didn't  object — you  didn't  shrink  from  me  !  Why,  I 
remember — my  God  ! — you  kissed  my  hand  !  You 
said  :  '  it  was  done  for  me ! '  Oh-h !  " 

The  woman  at  his  feet,  her  face  hidden,  had  been 
sobbing  violently.  She  lifted  her  eyes  now,  and 
strove  appealingly  to  conquer  him  with  their  power. 
She  rose,  unaided,  to  her  feet,  and  confronted  him. 
Terror  and  tenderness  visibly  struggled  for  the  mas- 
tery of  her  facial  expression,  as  for  the  mood  be- 
hind it. 


"  You    Thought  I  Did  It !  "  291 

"  Don't,  Seth,  don't  !  Can't  you  see  how  I  am 
suffering?  Have  you  no  pity?  How  can  you  have 
the  heart  to  speak  to  me  like  this?  " 

"  You  talk  about  pity — about  hearts  !  " 

"  How  long  ago  was  it  that  they  were  on  your 
tongue — that  you  had  your  arms  stretched  open  for 
me?" 

"  Don't  recall  it !  " 

"  If  I  were  to  die  this  day,  this  hour,  it  would  be 
the  one  thing  I  should  want  to  remember,  the  one 
thing  of  my  life  that  I  should  hug  to  my  heart. 
What  is  changed  since  then  ?  A  man  dead  ? — a  man 
dies  every  minute  of  the  day  somewhere  in  the 
world  !  Suppose  I  was  wrong !  Suppose  it  was  an 
accident — yes,  we'll  say  it  was!  Don't  you  see — 
how  little  that  is,  how  unimportant,  compared  with 
— with " 

She  finished  the  sentence  by  a  faltering  step  to- 
ward him,  her  arms  outstretched,  her  lips  parted, 
her  form  offering  itself  for  his  embrace  with  a  sinu- 
ous seduction  of  moving  outlines. 

The  old  witchery  flamed  up  for  a  second  in  his 
pulses ;  then  it  was  emberless  ashes. 

Without  a  word  he  turned  and  left  her. 

Aunt  Sabrina  opened  the  door  of  her  room  in  re- 
sponse to  his  strenuous  rapping,  and  wiped  her  tear- 
stained  face  with  the  end  of  her  shoulder-shawl  as 
her  nephew  entered.  At  his  behest,  she  told  all  the 
tidings  that  had  come  to  the  farm.  Its  master  had 
been  found  at  the  bottom  of  Tallman's  ravine,  by 


292  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

some  boys  who  had  climbed  down  to  see  if  the 
beech-nuts  were  turning.  The  whole  equipage  had 
pitched  off  the  narrow  road  which  crossed  the  gulf 
at  this  point,  high  above.  The  buggy  was  smashed. 
One  of  the  horses  was  dead  ;  the  other  had  two  of 
its  legs  broken.  Half  hidden  under  the  carriage 
and  one  of  the  beasts  was  Albert,  quite  lifeless 
and  cold.  The  men  who  brought  the  news  be- 
lieved every  bone  in  his  body  must  have  been 
broken. 

As  she  concluded  the  bare  recital  of  facts,  the 
poor  old  maid  began  her  sobbing  afresh. 

"  I  might  uv  knaowd  it'd  V  come  to  this,"  she 
groaned  ;  "  '  pride  goeth  before  a  fall,'  ez  Solomon 
says.  I  hed  my  heart  tew  much  sot  on  his  goin'  to 
Congress  ;  I  was  exaltin'  my  horn  tew  high.  I  was 
settin'  by  the  window,  that  very  minute,  watchin' 
Sarah  Andrews  go  by  perked  up  in  their  democrat 
wagon,  with  her  injy  shawl  'n  all  her  fine  feathers  on, 
'n'  never  so  much  's  turnin'  her  head  this  way,  'n'  I 
was  sayin'  to  myself,  '  M'  lady,  you'll  come  daown  a 
peg  'r  two  off  'n  your  high  hoss  when  Albert  goes 
to  Congress ' — 'n'  there  the  men  was  comin'  in  the 
gate,  thet  identical  minute,  with  the  news.  I  tell 
you  !  "  she  roused  herself  into  indignant  declama- 
tion here,  "  men  like  Zeke  Tallman  ought  to  be 
hung,  who  're  tew  shiftless  or  penurious  to  fix  up 
their  fences  on  pieces  o'  raoad  like  thet,  sao's  to 
keep  folks  from  drivin'  off  in  the  dark,  'n'  killin' 
themselves !  That's  what  they  ought !  " 

"  But   it  wasn't  dark,  Aunt  Sabrina,"  said  Seth ; 


Thought  I  Did  It !"          293 

"  the  moon  was  so  bright  all  last  night,  you  could 
have  seen  to  read  by  it." 

The  old  lady  was  too  occupied  with  her  own 
thoughts  to  even  think  of  inquiring  as  to  her 
nephew's  source  of  information.  She  only  rocked 
to  and  fro,  desolately,  and  said,  as  if  talking  to  her- 
self: 

"  Sao  much  the  wuss,  Seth.  It  was  to  be  !  Noth- 
in'  could  a'  stopped  it.  Thet  old  witch,  M'tildy 
Warren,  is  right.  There's  a  cuss  on  aour  fam'ly. 
Here,  almost  inside  tew  years,  Sissly's  gone,  'n' 
Lemuel's  gone,  'n'  naow  its  poor  Albert !  'N'  he 
was  gittin'  so  like  his  grandfather,  the  Senator,  tew, 
gittin'  to  look  like  him,  'n'  ack  like  him ;  I  kin  re- 
member my  father " 

Seth  had  left  the  room,  with  soft  footsteps.  He 
would  go  at  once  to  the  scene  of  his  brother's  death. 

At  the  outside  door,  as  he  opened  it,  he  stood 
face  to  face  with  Annie.  She  gave  him  her  hand 
silently.  Her  face  was  paler  than  he  had  ever  seen 
it  before,  and  she  looked  on  the  ground,  after  the 
first  little  start  of  surprise  at  the  meeting,  instead 
of  into  his  face. 

"  You  have  heard  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"Yes.     Isn't  it  awful?" 

"  Will  you  go  upstairs  and  see  Aunt  Sabrina  ? 
She  is  in  her  room.  I  think  the  sight  of  you  would 
do  her  good." 

"  Yes.  What  a  terrible  shock  it  must  be  to  her. 
And ?" 

"The    widow?     You'll    find   her   in   the   parlor. 


294  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

Strange  enough,  she  was  weeping  her  eyes  out  when 
I  last  saw  her."  He  could  not  keep  the  bitterness 
out  of  his  tone. 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  was  all  that  Annie  could  find  it 
in  her  heart  to  murmur,  as  Seth  passed  her  on  his 
gloomy  errand,  and  she  entered  the  house  of 
mourning. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  CORONER. 

THERE  was  a  short  cut  by  which,  using  a  rough 
back  road  across  the  hill,  and  then  a  dimly-marked 
bridle  path  down  the  bed  of  the  creek,  one  could 
get  to  Tallman's  ravine  in  less  than  an  hour  on  foot. 
Seth  saddled  the  black  mare,  and  brought  her  up 
on  the  meadow  plateau  overlooking  the  gulf,  pant- 
ing and  white  on  breast  and  barrel  with  foam,  inside 
fifteen  minutes.  He  had  galloped  furiously,  unable 
to  think  save  in  impatient  flashes,  and  reckless  alike 
of  his  own  neck  and  the  beast's  wind  and  limbs. 
He  reined  up  the  plunging  mare  at  the  very  edge  of 
the  ravine,  where  some  score  of  farmers  and  boys 
were  standing  clustered  under  the  trees,  watching 
his  excited  approach. 

As  he  threw  himself  from  the  saddle  among 
them,  and  looked  swiftly  from  face  to  face  for  the 
right  one  to  speak  to  first,  the  attention  of  the  elder 
bystanders  concentrated  itself  upon  the  mare. 
They  would  have  given  their  foremost  thoughts  to 
her  anyway,  for  they  were  owners  of  livestock  even 
before  they  were  neighbors,  and  her  splashed  and 
heated  condition  appealed  in  protest  to  their  deep- 
est feeling — reverential  care  for  good  horseflesh. 
But  there  was  something  more :  the  mare  was 


296  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

strangely,  visibly  agitated  at  the  sight  of  the  glen 
before  her,  and  reared  back  with  outstretched 
trembling  forelegs,  lifted  ears,  and  distended,  fright- 
ened eyes. 

"  By  Cracky !  "  cried  Zeke  Tallman  himself,  "  don't 
it  beat  natur' !  This  'ere  mare  knaows  what's  hap- 
pened !  Look  at  her !  She  senses  what's  layin' 
down  there  at  the  bottom  !  " 

"  'N'  yit  they  say  dawgs  has  got  more  instinck 
than  a  hoss!"  said  a  younger  yokel.  He  kicked  a 
mongrel  pup  which  was  lounging  around  among  the 
men's  legs,  with  a  fierce  "  Git  aout !  yeh  whelp,  yeh  ! 
What  d'you  knaow  abaout  it ! "  to  illustrate  his  con- 
tempt for  this  canine  theory. 

A  third  farmer,  more  practically  considerate,  took 
the  shivering,  affrighted  beast  by  the  bridle,  and  led 
it  away  from  the  gulf's  edge,  patting  its  wet  neck 
compassionately  as  they  went. 

Meanwhile  Seth  had  found  his  way  through  the 
group  to  his  brother  John,  who  stood  with  his  back 
against  a  beech  tree,  springing  from  the  very  brink 
of  the  gulf,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  on  the 
trampled  grass  at  his  feet.  A  half  circle  of  boys, 
with  one  or  two  girls  of  the  school  age,  stretched 
about  him  at  some  distance,  like  the  outer  line  of  an 
open  fan,  mutely  eyeing  him  as  the  second  most  im- 
portant figure  in  the  tragedy.  They  separated  for 
Seth  to  make  his  way,  and  made  signs  to  each  other 
that  the  interest  was  doubled  by  his  arrival.  The 
brothers  shook  hands  silently  and  scarcely  looked  at 
each  other. 


The  Coroner.  297 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  pistol  shot  from  the 
glen  below  ;  somebody  said  :  "  There  !  they've  killed 
th'  off-hoss.  Ther'  goes  th'  best  matched  team  o' 
grays  in  Dearborn  Caounty  !  " 

"  Have  you  been  down  yet,  John  ?  "  Seth  asked 
softly,  as  the  low  buzz  of  conversation  began  about 
them  once  more. 

"  No,  not  yet.  I  suppose  I  could  if  I  had  insisted 
on  it,  but  when  I  got  here,  twenty  minutes  or  so 
ago,  they  told  me  here  that  Timms  had  got  his  jury 
together  down  there,  and  forbidden  anybody  com- 
ing down  till  they  were  through.  So  I've  stayed 
here.  Not  that  I  care  about  Timms,  but — I  can 
wait." 

"  Let's  go  down !  "  As  he  spoke,  Seth  swung 
himself  around  the  beech,  and  began  the  descent, 
letting  himself  swiftly  down  the  steep,  mossy  decliv- 
ity by  saplings  and  roots.  His  brother  followed. 
One  or  two  boys  started  also,  but  were  roughly  re- 
strained by  their  elders,  with  a  whispered  "  Stay 
back,  can't  yeh  !  H'ain't  yeh  got  no  sense.  Them's 
the  brothers ! " 

The  scene  at  the  bottom  was  not  unlike  what 
Seth's  fancy  had  painted  it,  adding  the  terrible 
novelties  of  the  night  to  a  spot  he  had  known  from 
boyhood.  Half-shaded  even  in  the  noon  sunlight 
by  overhanging  branches  from  the  towering,  perpen- 
dicular sides  of  the  glen,  the  miniature  valley  lay,  a 
narrow  stretch  of  poor,  close- cropped  grass,  with 
the  spiral,  faded  mullein  stalks,  the  soft  brown  clumps 
of  brake,  the  straggling,  bloomless  thistles,  and  even 


298  Seth's  Brother's   Wife. 

some  tufts  of  glowing  golden-rod,  which  push  their 
way  into  unfrequented  pasture-lands  and  encompass 
their  sterility.  The  stream,  which  once  had  been  a 
piscatorial  glory  of  the  section,  but  now,  robbed  of 
its  water  and  its  life  by  distant  clearings,  mills  and 
reservoirs,  wandered  sadly  and  shallowly  on  an  un- 
noted course,  divided  itself  here  to  skirt  each  side  of 
the  gulf  with  a  contemptible  rivulet— the  two  com- 
ing together  abruptly  at  the  mouth  of  the  low  stone 
culvert,  and  vanishing  into  its  dark  recesses,  above 
which  rose,  sloping  steeply,  the  high  embankment 
of  the  road  traversing  the  ravine. 

It  was  over  this  embankment  that  horses,  carriage 
and  owner  had  precipitately  pitched;  it  was  at  its 
base,  on  the  swail  and  gravel  of  the  stream's  edge, 
that  the  wreck  lay,  surrounded  by  a  little  knot  of 
men.  Vertical  gashes  in  the  earth  down  the  bank, 
with  broken  branches  and  torn  roots,  marked  the 
awful  track  of  the  descent ;  the  waters  of  the  brook 
to  the  right,  dammed  by  the  body  of  the  horse  killed 
in  the  fall,  had  overflowed  the  sands  and  made  muddy 
rivulets  across  to  the  culvert. 

The  Coroner  turned  with  obvious  vexation  at  the 
sound  of  the  brothers'  approach.  "  I  thought  I  give 
word — "  he  began ;  then,  recognizing  the  new- 
comers, added,  without  altering  his  peremptory,  of- 
ficious tone :  "  It's  all  right ;  you  can  come  now,  if 
you  want  to.  The  gentlemen  of  the  jury  have  com- 
pleted their  labors  for  the  present.  I  was  on  the 
pint  of  adjourning  the  ink-west." 

The  brothers  joined  the  jurors,  and  dumbly  sur- 


The  Coroner.  299 

veyed  the  spectacle  at  their  feet.  One  of  the  grays 
lay  across  the  rivulet ;  the  other,  more  recently  dead, 
was  piled  awkwardly  upon  its  mate's  neck  and 
shoulders,  in  an  unnatural  heap.  The  front  por- 
tions of  the  buggy,  scratched  but  not  smashed,  were 
curiously  reared  in  the  air,  by  reason  of  the  pole 
being  driven  deep  into  the  soft  earth,  between  the 
horses ;  the  rear  wheels  and  the  seat,  broken  off  and 
riven  by  the  violence  of  the  shock,  were  imbedded 
in  the  marsh  underneath.  On  the  higher  ground, 
close  in  front  of  the  brothers,  lay  something  decor- 
ously covered  with  horse-blankets,  which  they  com- 
prehended with  a  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"  He  lay  in  theer,  part  under  the  hind  wheels  'n' 
part  under  the  nigh  hoss,"  explained  the  Coroner, 
with  dignity.  "  The  fall  was  enough  to  brek  his 
neck  twenty  times  over,  let  alone  the  hosses  may've 
kicked  him  on  the  way  down.  We  hev  viewed  the 
remains,  'n'  we've  decided 

"  We  ain't  decided  nothin' ! "  broke  in  one  of  the 
jurors,  a  serious,  almost  grim-faced  farmer,  with  a 
bushy  collar  of  gray  whiskers  framing  his  brown 
square  jaw.  "  How  kin  we  decide  till  we've  heerd 
some  evidence,  'n'  before  the  ink-west  is  threw 
with  ?  " 

"  There's  some  men  'd  kick  if  they  was  goin'  to  be 
hung.  Did  I  say  we'd  arrived  at  a  verdict  ?  What 
I  mean  is  we've  agreed  to  adjourn  the  ink-west  now 
till  arter  the  funeral." 

"  Well,  why  daon't  yeh  say  what  yeh  mean,  then  ?  " 
rejoined  the  objecting  juror.  "  They  can't  no  cor'- 


300  SetJis  Brother  s   Wife. 

ner  make  up  my  verdict  fur  me,  'n'  you'll  fine  it 
aout,  tew." 

"  The  more  fool  me  fur  panelin'  yeh  ! "  was  the 
Coroner's  comment. 

The  brothers  insensibly  edged  away  from  this 
painful  altercation.  A  little  elderly  man,  in  shabby 
broadcloth  which  seemed  strangely  out  of  place 
among  the  rough  tweeds  and  homespuns  of  the 
farmers,  detached  himself  from  the  group  of  jurors, 
and  came  over  to  them,  with  a  subdued  half- 
smile  of  recognition.  It  was  the  Thessaly  under- 
taker. 

"  Tew  bad,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  said  glibly,  "  allus  some 
such  scrimmage  as  thet,  on  every  one  of  Timms' 
juries.  He  ain't  got  no  exec'tive  ability,  /  say.  I'd 
like  to  see  him  run  a  funer'l  with  eight  bearers — all 
green  han's  !  I  told  him  thet  once,  right  to  his  face  ! 
But  then  of  course  yeh  knaow  /  can't  say  much. 
He's  techy,  'n'  'twouldn't  do  fur  me  to  rile  him.  We 
hev  a  kind  o'  'rangement,  you  see.  I  hev  to  be  on 
hand  any-way,  'n'  he  allus  puts  me  on  the  jury;  it 
helps  him  'n'  it  helps  me.  I  kin  always  sort  o'  smooth 
over  things,  if  any  o'  th'  jurors  feels  cranky,  yeh 
knaow.  They'll  listen  to  me,  cuz  they  reelize  I've 
hed  experience,  'n'  then  there's  a  good  deal  inknaow- 
in'  haow  to  manage  men,  in  hevin'  what  /  call  exec'- 
tive ability.  Of  course,  this  case  is  peculiar.  They 
ain't  no  question  abaout  th'  death  bein'  accidental. 
But  this  man  you  heerd  kickin',  this  Cyrus  Ballou, 
he's  makin'  a  dead  set  to  hev'  Zeke  Tallman  con- 
demned fur  hevin'  his  fence  up  there  in  bad  repair. 


The  Coroner.  301 

He  V  Tallman's  a  lawin'  of  it  abaout  some  o'  his 
steers  thet  got  into  Tallman's  cabbages,  'n'  thet's 
why " 

"I  suppose  we  can  leave  this  to  you  !  "  John  broke 
in,  impatience  mastering  the  solemnity  of  the  scene. 
"Have  you  made  any  arrangements?  You  know 
what  ought  to  be  done." 

"  Yes,  my  boy  ought  to  be  here  by  this  time 
with  my  covered  wagon,  what  I  call  my  ambu- 
lance." 

The  brothers  turned  away  from  him.  The  little 
man  remembered  something  and  hurrying  after  them 
laid  his  hand  on  John's  arm. 

"  When  I  spoke  abaout  allus  bein'  on  the  jury, 
you  knaow,  p'raps  I  ought  to've  explained."  He 
proceeded  with  an  uneasy,  deprecating  gesture. 
"  You  see,  a  juror  gits  a  dollar  a  day,  'n'  sometimes 
friends  of  the  remains  think  I  ought  to  deduck  thet 
f'm  my  bill,  but  ef  you'll  jest  consider " 

"  Oh  for  God's  sake !  leave  us  alone  !  " 

It  was  Seth  who  spoke,  and  the  undertaker  joined 
his  fellow-jurors  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  forthwith. 
The  brothers  went  back,  and  stood  again  in  oppressed 
silence  over  the  blanketed  form. 

Dr.  William  Henry  Timms  meanwhile  conversed 
apart  with  his  panel.  He  was  a  middle-aged,  shrewd- 
faced  man,  who,  like  so  many  thousands  of  other 
Whig  babes  born  in  the  forties,  had  been  named 
after  the  hero  of  Tippecanoe.  He  was  more  poli- 
tician than  coroner,  more  coroner  than  doctor.  He 
hung  by  a  rather  dubious  diploma  upon  the  out- 


302  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

skirts  of  his  profession,  snubbed  by  the  County 
Society,  contemned  by  most  sensible  Thessaly  fam- 
ilies as  "  not  fit  to  doctor  a  sick  cat."  But  he  had 
a  powerful  "  pull"  in  the  politics  of  the  county,  and 
the  office  could  not,  apparently,  be  wrested  from 
him,  no  matter  how  capable  his  opponent. 

In  the  earlier  years  of  his  official  service  he  had 
been  over  zealous  in  suspecting  mysteries,  and  had 
twice  been  reprimanded  by  the  Supreme  Court 
Judge,  and  much  oftener  by  the  District  Attorney, 
for  enveloping  in  criminal  suspicion  cases  which, 
when  intelligently  examined,  were  palpable  and 
blameless  casualties.  These  experiences  had  sensi- 
bly modified  his  zeal.  He  had  put  the  detective 
habit  of  mind  far  away  behind  him,  and,  like  a  wise 
official,  bent  all  his  energies  now  to  the  more  practi- 
cal labor  of  dividing  each  inquest  into  as  many  ses- 
sions as  possible.  Had  he  been  a  Federal  Deputy 
Marshal,  he  could  not  have  been  more  skilled  in  this 
delicate  art  of  getting  eight  days'  pay  out  of  a  three 
hours'  case.  A  bare  suggestion  of  mystery  at  the 
start,  to  be  almost  cleared  up,  then  revived,  then 
exploited  carefully,  then  finally  dissipated,  and  all 
so  deftly  that  the  District  Attorney,  who  lived  at 
Octavius,  would  not  be  inspired  to  come  over  and 
interfere — this  was  Dr.  Timms'  conception  of  a  sat- 
isfactory inquest.  Occasionally  there  would  be  the 
added  zest  of  an  opportunity  to  formally  inflict  cen- 
sure upon  somebody,  and  if  this  involved  some 
wealthy  or  potential  person,  so  much  the  better  :  to 
withhold  the  censure  meant  tangible  profit,  to  stern- 


The  Coroner.  303 

ly  mete  it  (failing  a  fair  arrangement)  meant  public 
credit  as  a  bold,  vigilant  official. 

Dr.  Timms  was  still  turning  over  in  his  mind  the 
professional  possibilities  involved  in  Tallman's  bad 
fence-building,  and  casually  sounding  his  jurors  as 
to  their  private  feelings  toward  the  delinquent ;  the 
brothers  had  followed  the  jury  up  to  the  meadow 
plateau,  and  were  standing  aloof  from  yet  among 
their  neighbors,  answering  in  monosyllables,  and  fol- 
lowing mentally  the  work  of  the  undertakers'  squad 
down  in  the  bottom  ;  the  farmers  were  beginning  to 
straggle  off  reluctantly,  the  demands  of  neglected 
work  and  long-waiting  dinners  conquering  their  in- 
clination to  remain — when  a  big  carry -all  from  Tyre 
drove  up  on  the  road  outside,  and  a  score  of  men 
clambered  out  and  over  the  fence  to  join  the  group. 
They  had  driven  post-haste  from  the  Convention, 
and  among  them  were  Ansdell,  Beekman,  and  Mil- 
ton Squires. 

Mr.  Ansdell  came  straight  to  the  two  brothers, 
giving  a  hand  to  each  with  a  gesture  full  of  tender 
comprehension.  While  they  talked  in  low  tones  of 
the  tragedy,  they  were  joined  by  Abe  Beekman  ; 
upon  the  normal  eagerness  and  wistful  solemnity  of 
his  gaunt  face  there  was  engrafted  now  a  curious 
suggestion  of  consuming  interest  in  some  masked 
feature  of  the  affair.  He  was  so  intent  upon  this, 
whatever  it  might  be,  that  to  the  sensitive  feelings 
of  the  other  three  he  seemed  to  dash  into  the  sub- 
ject with  wanton  brusqueness. 

"  How  air  yeh,  Fairchild  ?  "  he  nodded  to  John, 


304  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

"  I  want  somebody  to  tell  me  this  hull  thing,  while 
it's  fresh.  Who  knaowsth'  most  'baout  it  ?  Where's 
th'  Cor'ner?  What's  he  done  so  far?" 

Obedient  to  a  word  from  John,  the  Coroner  dig- 
nifiedly  came  over  to  the  beech  tree,  where  our  little 
group  stood,  and  listened  coldly  to  a  series  of  search- 
ing questions  put  by  the  Jay  County  magnate. 
When  they  were  finished  he  made  lofty  answer : 

"  I  ain't  institooted  no  inquiries  yit.  That'll  be 
arranged  fur  later,  to  convenience  the  family  'n'  the 
officers  of  the  law.  It  ain't  customary,  in  cases  of 
accident  like  this,  to  rush  around  like  a  hen  with  her 
head  cut  off,  right  at  the  start.  The  law  takes  these 
things  ca'mly,  sir — ca'mly  'n'  quietly." 

"  But  have  you  made  an  examination  ? — you  are 
a  doctor,  I  think,"  interposed  Ansdell.  "  Have  you 
satisfied  yourself  when  the  death  occurred  ?  Have 
you  learned  any  of  the  circumstances  of  it  ?  Were 
there  any  witnesses  ?  " 

The  Coroner  looked  at  the  questioner,  then  at  the 
brothers,  as  if  including  them  in  his  pained  censure, 
then  back  again  at  Ansdell : 

"  I  don't  know  ez  it's  any  o'  your  business,"  he 
said.  "  Who  air  yeh,  any  way  ?  " 

Before  anyone  else  could  answer,  Beekman  spoke  : 
"  He's  the  next  Congressman  from  this  deestrick — 
nominated  by  acclamation  over  at  Tyre  to-day — 
that's  who  he  is.  But  never  mind  that,  what  I 
want  to  knaow  is — air  yeh  sure  he  died  from  an  ac- 
cident? Kin  yeh  swear  to  thet  ez  a  doctor?" 

"  Toe  be  sure  I  kin !  "  responded  the  official,  in  a 


The  Coroner.  305 

friendlier  tone.  "  He  was  simply  mashed  out  o' 
shape  by  the  fall.  He  come  down  forty  feet,  ef  it 
was  an  inch,  plum  under  the  horses.  They  jest 
rolled  over  each  other,  all  the  way  down. — And  so 
this  is  Mr.  Ansdell,  I  presewm.  I'm  proud  to  make 
yer  acquaintance,  sir.  Only  by  the  merest  accident 
I  wasn't  at  the  Convention  to-day,  sir. " 

The  undertaker  came  up  now  to  announce  that 
the  first  stage  of  his  labors  was  completed  and  that 
the  ambulance  wagon  was  on  the  road  outside,  ready 
to  start  for  the  Fairchild  homestead. 

"  We  went  up  by  t'other  side,  lower  daown  the 
gulf,"  he  explained  ;  *'  'twas  easier,  'n'  then  there 
was  no  shock  to  yer  feelin's.  Ef  I  might  be  'lowed 
to  s'jest,  it  'ud  look  kine  o'  respectful  to  hev  all 
these  friends  of  the  remains  walk  two  by  two,  behine 
the  wagon,  daown  to  the  haouse.  Yeh  might  let 
the  carry-all  come  along  arterwards,  empty,  yeh 
knaow,  ez  a  sort  o'  token  of  grief." 

The  suggestion  was  passively  accepted  as  the 
proper  thing  under  the  circumstances,  and  the  little 
procession  began  to  shape  itself  on  the  road  outside. 
Seth  was  moving  toward  the  fence  with  the  others, 
when  the  thought  of  the  black  mare  he  had  ridden 
to  the  scene  occurred  to  him.  A  farm-boy  was  hold- 
ing the  animal  a  little  way  off,  near  some  bars  open- 
ing from  the  meadow  to  the  road.  Seth  saw  Milton 
getting  over  the  rails — he  had  been  busy  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  assemblage  gathering  accounts  from 
those  earlier  on  the  ground — and  said  to  him : 
"  Won't  you  get  the  mare,  and  ride  her  home, 


306  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

along  with  the  carry-all.  I  shall  walk — with  the 
rest." 

The  cortege  had  formed  just  beyond  the  fateful 
narrowing  of  the  road,  where  it  crossed  the  gulf, 
and  the  men  who  were  to  follow  Albert  to  the  home- 
stead, including  all  the  late  comers  from  Tyre  and  a 
few  neighbors,  had  looked  down  the  steep  declivity, 
and  noted  the  new  breaking  away  of  earth  on  the 
road's  edge,  before  they  passed  on  to  fall  in  line  be- 
hind the  black,  shrouded  vehicle.  The  procession 
had  moved  some  rods  when  there  came  sounds  of 
excitement  from  the  rear  ;  at  these  some  of  the  walk- 
ers turned,  then  others,  and  even  the  driver  of  the 
ambulance  drew  up  his  horses  and  joined  the  retro- 
spective gaze. 

The  black  mare  was  balking  again,  on  the  road 
directly  over  the  gulf,  and  was  crowding  back  with 
her  haunches  tight  against  the  fencing  on  the  side 
opposite  to  that  over  which  her  late  master  had 
fallen.  It  was  a  moment  of  cruel  tension  to  every 
eye,  for  the  fence  was  visibly  yielding  under  the 
animal's  weight,  and  another  tragedy  seemed  a  mat- 
ter of  seconds.  Milton  appeared  to  have  lost  all 
sense,  and  was  simply  clinging  to  the  mare's  neck, 
in  dumb  affright.  Luckily  a  farmer  ran  forward  at 
this  juncture,  and  contrived  to  lead  the  beast  for- 
ward diagonally  away  from  the  spot.  Milton  sat  up 
in  the  saddle  again,  turned  the  mare  away  from  the 
gulf,  and  galloped  off. 

"  Dummed  cur'ous  thet !  "  whispered  Beekman  to 
Seth ;  "  does  thet  mare  ack  thet  way  often  ?  " 


The  Coroner.  307 

"  I  never  knew  her  to  balk  before  to-day.  She 
acted  like  that  when  I  first  brought  her  up  to  the 
ravine.  It  is  curious,  as  you  say.  But  animal  in- 
stinct is  a  strange,  unaccountable  thing  any  way." 

"  Hm-m  !  "  answered  the  Boss  of  Jay  County,  knit- 
ting his  brows  in  thought,  as  the  procession  moved 
again. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ANNIE     AND     ISABEL. 

ANNIE  found  the  living  room  of  the  Fairchild 
homestead  unoccupied.  She  could  hear  Alvira  talk- 
ing with  the  Lawton  girl  out  in  the  kitchen,  and 
from  the  parlor  on  the  other  side  there  came  a  mur- 
muring sound  which  she  did  not  comprehend  at 
once.  As  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  stair  door, 
with  the  purpose  of  ascending  to  Sabrina's  room, 
this  sound  rose  to  a  distinguishable  pitch.  It  was  a 
woman's  weeping.  Annie  hesitated,  listening  for  a 
moment ;  then  she  turned,  rolled  one  of  the  parlor 
doors  back,  and  entered. 

Isabel  lay  buried  in  the  blue  easy-chair,  her  face, 
encircled  by  one  arm,  hidden  against  its  back.  The 
great  braids  of  her  yellow  hair  were  dishevelled  and 
loosened,  without  being  in  graceful  disorder.  Her 
whole  form  trembled  with  the  force  of  her  hysterical 
sobbing. 

At  Annie's  touch  upon  her  shoulder  she  raised  her 
face  quickly.  It  was  tear-stained,  haggard,  and 
looked  soft  with  that  flabbiness  of  outline  which 
trouble  may  give  to  the  fairest  woman's  beauty  when 
it  is  not  built  upon  youth  ;  over  this  face  passed  a 
quick  look  of  disappointment  at  recognition  of 
Annie. 


Annie  and  Isabel.  309 

"  Oh,  it  is  you  !  " 

The  almost  petulant  words  escaped  before  Isabel 
could  collect  herself.  She  sat  up  now,  wiping  her 
eyes,  and  striving  with  all  her  might  for  control  of 
her  thoughts  and  tongue. 

"  Yes,  Isabel.  I  was  going  up  to  Sabrina's  room, 
but  I  heard  you  sobbing  here,  and  I  felt  that  I  must 
come  to  you.  It  is  all  so  terrible — and  I  do  so  feel 
for  you  ! " 

"  Terrible — yes,  it  is  terrible !  It  was  kind  of  you 
to  come — very  kind.  I — I  scarcely  realize  it  all,  yet. 
It  was  such  a  shock !  " 

"  I  know,  poor  dear."  Annie  laid  her  hand  caress- 
ingly on  the  other's  brow.  She  had  not  come  with 
over-tenderness  in  her  heart,  but  this  unexpected 
depth  of  suffering,  so  palpably  real,  touched  her 
keenly.  "  I  know.  Don't  try  to  talk  to  me — don't 
feel  that  it  is  necessary.  Only  let  me  be  of  use  to 
you.  It  will  be  a  dreadful  time  for  you  all — and 
perhaps  I  can  spare  you  some.  I  shan't  go  to  the 
school  to-day.  Oughtn't  you  to  go  up  to  your  room 
now,  Isabel,  and  lie  down,  and  leave  me  here  to — 
to  arrange  things?  " 

"  No,  not  yet !  Perhaps  soon  I  will.  My  impulse 
is  to  stay  down,  to  spare  myself  nothing,  to  force 
myself  to  suffer  everything  that  there  is  to  be  suf- 
fered. I'll  see;  perhaps  that  may  not  be  best. 
But  not  now  !  not  now  !  No — don't  go  !  Stay  with 
me.  I  dread  to  be  left  alone;  my  own  thoughts 
murder  me !  "  She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  began  pac- 
ing to  and  from  the  piano.  "  Let  me  walk — and 


310  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

you  talk  to  me — anything,  it  doesn't  matter  what—- 
it will  help  occupy  my  mind.  Oh,  yes — were  you 
at  Crump's  last  night  ?  I  heard  them  come  by,  late, 
singing." 

"  Oh,  Isabel,  how  can  we  talk  of  such  trivial  things? 
Yes,  I  was  there ;  I  was  in  the  singing  party,  too. 
It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  that  at  that  very  min- 
ute, perhaps "  The  girl  paused  for  a  moment, 

with  parted  lips  and  troubled  face,  as  if  pondering 
some  sudden  thought ;  then  exclaimed,  "  Oh-h ! 
the  horse  !  Could  it  have  been  ! " 

"  Could  what  have  been  !  "  Isabel  stopped  in  her 
caged-panther-like  pacing,  and  looked  deep  inquiry. 

"  But  no,  of  course  not !  What  connection  could 
there  have  been !  You  see,  after  I  left  the  wagon, 
to  cut  across  by  the  path  at  the  end  of  the  poplars, 
a  horse  came  galloping  like  the  wind  up  the  road, 
with  some  figure  lying  low  on  its  back.  We  were 
too  far  away  to  see  distinctly,  though  the  night  was 
so  light " — she  had  insensibly  drifted  into  the  use  of 
the  plural  pronoun — "  but  the  thing  went  by  so  like 
a  flash  that  it  seemed  an  apparition.  And  come  to 
think  of  it,  there  was  an  effort  to  avoid  noise.  I 
know  I  wondered  at  there  being  such  a  muffled 
sound,  and  Seth  explained " 

She  stopped  short,  conscious  of  having  said  more 
than  she  intended. 

"  Seth  was  with  you,  then  ?  " 

"Yes — he  met  me,  quite  unexpectedly,  by  the 
thorns.  He  had  been  out  walking,  he  said;  the 
night  was  too  fine  to  sleep." 


Annie  and  Isabel.  311 

"Yes,  I  heard  him  go  out,  an  hour  and  a  half  at 
least  before  the  singers  came  by.  Did  he  say  any- 
thing to  you  about  what  had  happened,  here  in  the 
house,  during  the  evening?"  Isabel's  azure  eyes 
took  on  their  darkest  hue  now,  in  the  intentness  of 
her  gaze  into  her  companion's  face. 

"  Only  that  he  had  had  words  with  Albert — poor 
boy !  how  like  a  knife  the  memory  of  them  must  be 
to  him  now !" 

"  Did  he  tell  you  what  the  words  were  about  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  else  to  you  ?  " 

Annie  grew  restive  under  this  persistent  interroga- 
tion. The  habit  of  deference  to  the  older,  wiser, 
more  beautiful  woman  was  very  strong  with  her,  but 
this  did  seem  like  an  undue  strain  upon  it. 

"  Why  yes,  no  doubt  he  did.  We  talked  of  a 
number  of  things." 

"  What  were  they  ?    What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"Well,  really,  Isabel,  I " 

The  elder  woman  gave  a  little  click  with  her  teeth 
and,  after  a  searching  glance  into  the  other's  face, 
resumed  her  walk  up  and  down,  her  hands  clenched 
rather  than  clasped  before  her,  and  her  movement 
more  feline  than  ever.  "  Well,  really  you — what  ?  " 
she  said  with  the  faintest  suggestion  of  a  mocking 
snarl  in  the  intonation. 

The  girl  drew  herself  up.  It  was  not  in  human 
nature  to  keep  her  tone  from  chilling.  "  Really,  I 
think  I  would  better  go  up  to  Sabrina.  I  fancied  I 
might  be  of  some  service  to  you." 


312  Setlis  Brothers   Wife. 

"  Annie  !  Are  you  going  to  speak  like  that  to 
me  ? — now  of  all  times  !  "  The  tone  was  outwardly 
appealing.  Annie's  sense  was  not  skilled  enough  to 
detect  the  vibration  of  menace  in  it. 

"  No,  Isabel,  not  at  all.  But  you  make  it  hard  for 
me.  Can  you  wonder?  I  think  to  comfort  a  deso- 
late, stricken  woman  in  her  hour  of  sorrow,  and  she 
responds  by  peremptory  cross-examination  as  to 
what  a  young  man  may  have  said  to  me,  in  the 
moonlight.  Is  it  strange  that  I  am  puzzled  ?  " 

"  Strange  !  Is  not  everything  strange  around  and 
about  me !  That  I  should  have  married  as  I  did ; 
that  I,  loathing  farm  life,  should  have  come  here  to 
live  ;  that  I  should  be  waiting  here  now  for  them  to 
bring  my  husband's  corpse  home  to  me — is  it  not  all 
strange,  unreal  ?  The  conversation  ought  to  be  to 
match,  oughtn't  it?" — she  spoke  with  an  unnatural, 
tremulous  vivacity  which  pained  and  frightened  the 
girl — "  and  so,  while  we  wait,  I  talk  to  you  about 
young  men,  and  the  moonlight,  and  all  that.  Cant 
you  see  that  my  mind  is  tearing  itself  to  pieces,  like 
a  machine  in  motion  with  some  big  rod  or  other 
loose,  pounding,  crushing,  right  and  left  like  a  flail ! 
We  must  talk !  Tell  me  what  he  said,  anything — 
everything." 

"Why,  that  isn't  so  easy,"  Annie  replied  dubiously, 
much  mistrusting  the  sanity  of  all  this  conversation, 
but  pushed  along  with  it  in  spite  of  herself.  "  He 
said  something  about  a  misunderstanding  with  his 
poor  brother,  and  then — then  something  that  I  didn't 
at  all  understand  about  a  temptation,  a  great  tempta- 


Annie  and  Isabel.  313 

tion  leading  him  to  the  gates  of  hell  he  called  it — 
but  you  know  how  Seth  is  given  to  exaggerate  every- 
thing— and  then " 

"  He  told  you  all  this,  did  he.  How  confiding  ! 
How  sweet !  Go  on — what  else  did  he  say  to  you — 
in  the  moonlight." 

Annie  felt  vaguely  that  the  tone  was  cruel  and 
hostile.  As  she  paused  in  bewildered  self-inquiry, 
Isabel  glided  forward  and  confronted  her,  with  gleam- 
ing eyes  and  a  white,  drawn  face. 

"Why  do  you  stop  there?"  she  demanded  in  a 
swift,  bitter  whisper. 

"  There  are  things  which — a  girl  doesn't  like  to — 
have  dragged  from  her  in  this "  « 

Even  as  Annie  was  forming  this  halting  half- 
sentence,  a  change  came  over  the  elder  woman.  She 
dropped  the  hand  which  had  been  raised  as  if  to 
clutch  Annie's  shoulder.  The  flashing  light  passed 
from  her  eyes,  and  something  of  color,  or  at  least  of 
calm,  came  back  into  her  face. 

"  I  understand  !  "  she  said,  simply. 

"You  can  see,  Isabel,  that  this  is  not  a  time  I 
should  have  chosen  to  speak  of  such  things  to  you,  if 
you  had  not  insisted.  It  seems  almost  barbarous 
to  bring  my  joy  forward,  at -such  a  time,  and  appear 
to  contrast  it  with  your  affliction.  You  wont  think 
I  wanted  to  do  it,  will  you?" 

The  widow  of  a  day  was  looking  contemplatively 
at  her  companion ;  she  had  effaced  from  both  ex- 
pression and  voice  every  trace  of  her  recent  agita- 
tion. "  Are  you  sure  it  is  all  joy  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 


314  SctKs  Brother's   Wife. 

11 1  wouldn't  admit  it  to  him.  And  at  first  I  was 
not  altogether  clear  about  it  in  my  own  mind.  In- 
deed, with  this  other  and  terrible  thing,  I  can  scarce- 
ly think  soberly  about  it,  as  it  ought  to  be  thought 
of.  But  still — you  know,  Isabel,  we  were  little  chil- 
dren together — and  I  have  never  so  much  ?.s  thought 
of  anybody  else."  Annie  spoke  more  confidently,  as 
she  went  on ;  the  notion  that  there  had  been  malev- 
olence in  Isabel's  tone  had  faded  into  a  foolish 
fancy:  there  seemed  almost  encouragement,  sympa- 
thy, in  her  present  expression.  "  I  should  have  lived 
and  died  an  old  maid  if  he  had  not  come  to  me. 
And  it  comforts  me,  dear,  too,  to  think  that  in  your 
great  trout^e  I  shall  have  almost  a  sister's  right  to 
be  with  you,  and  help  you  bear  it." 

Isabel  did  not  respond  to  this  tender  proffer  of 
solace.  She  still  stood  eying  her  companion  reflect- 
ively. "  You  are  very  certain  of  being  happy, 
then  ?  "  she  mused. 

A  sense  of  discordance  touched  the  girl's  heart 
again — a  something  in  the  restrained,  calm  tone 
which  seemed  to  sting.  She  looked  more  scarch- 
ingly  into  the  speaker's  eyes,  and  read  in  their  blue 
depths  a  mystery  of  meaning  which  froze  and 
silenced  her.  While  Annie  looked,  in  growing 
paralysis  of  thought,  Isabel  spoke  again,  slowly : 

"  Your  married  life  at  least  won't  be  deadly  dull, 
as  miae  was.  There  must  be  great  possibilities  of 
excitement  in  living  with  a  man  who  can  propose 
marriage  to  a  girl — in  the  moonlight — on  his  way 
home  from  having  murdered  his  brother!  " 


Annie  and  Isabel.  315 

Young  Samantha  Lawton,  the  member  of  the 
tribe  who  served  as  maid-of-all-work  at  the  Warren 
homestead,  had  a  mind  at  once  imaginative  and 
curious.  From  an  upper  window  she  had  caught 
sight  of  the  mournful  procession  from  Tallman's 
ravine,  winding  its  way  down  the  hill,  in  the  dis- 
tance. She  stole  out  from  the  house,  whose  bed- 
ridden occupant  could  at  best  only  yell  herself 
hoarse  in  calling  if  she  chanced  to  need  anything 
during  her  absence,  and  walked  up  the  path  by  the 
thorns  to  the  main  road,  over  which  the  cortege 
would  presently  pass.  Inside  the  sharp  angle  of 
shade  made  at  this  corner,  where  the  thorns  aspir- 
ingly  joined  the  poplars,  there  was  an  old  board 
seat  between  two  trees,  the  relic  of  some  past  and 
forgotten  habit  of  rendezvous,  perhaps  whole  gen- 
erations old.  Samantha  knew  of  this  seat,  and 
stood  on  it  now  ;  from  it,  she  had  a  clear  view  of  the 
road  in  front  and,  through  the  tangled  thorns,  of  the 
meadow-path  to  the  left,  while  there  were  branches 
enough  about  her  to  render  her  practically  invisible. 
From  this  coign  of  vantage  Samantha  saw  some 
things  which  she  had  not  expected  to  witness. 

Annie  Fairchild  came  suddenly  across  the  line  of 
vision,  from  the  direction  of  the  dead  man's  house, 
and  walked  straight  to  the  stile  at  the  edge  of  the 
thorn  row.  There  was  something  so  curious  in  the 
expression  of  her  face,  as  she  advanced,  that  Saman- 
tha scented  discovery,  and  prepared  on  the  instant 
an  exculpatory  lie.  But  Annie  passed  the  one  place 
where  discovery  was  probable,  and  the  hidden  girl 


316  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

saw  now  that  the  strange  look  had  some  other  ex- 
planation. She  crossed  the  stile,  and  clung  to  the 
fence  post,  as  if  for  support ;  glanced  up  the  road, 
where  now  the  black  front  of  the  nearing  procession 
could  be  discerned  ;  then  with  a  shudder  turned  her 
face  in  profile  toward  her  unsuspected  observer, 
and  looked  vacantly,  piteously  up  into  the  after- 
noon sky. 

Annie's  face,  with  its  straight,  firm  outlines,  was 
not  one  which  lent  itself  to  the  small  facial  play  of 
evanescent  emotions.  Its  regular  features  habitu- 
ally expressed  an  intelligent,  self-reliant  composure, 
not  easily  responsive  to  shades  of  feeling.  To  see 
this  calm  countenance  transfixed  now  with  a  help- 
less stare  of  anguish  was  to  comprehend  that  some- 
thing terrible  had  happened. 

She  stood  at  the  stile,  deperditely  clinging  to  the 
rail  at  first,  then  edging  into  the  thorns  to  be  more 
out  of  sight,  as  the  ambulance  and  the  little  file  of 
friends  moved  slowly  by.  She  noted  nothing  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  procession — that  most  of  the 
silent  followers  were  strange  men,  in  city  dress — but 
only  gazed  at  Seth,  walking  along  gravely  behind 
the  vehicle,  beside  his  brother  John.  She  saw  him 
with  eyes  distended,  fixed — as  of  one  following  the 
unfolding  of  a  hideous  nightmare.  So  long  as  the 
party  remained  in  sight,  these  set,  affrighted  eyes 
followed  him.  Then  they  closed,  and  the  sufferer 
reeled  as  if  in  a  swoon. 

Samantha's  first  and  best  impulse  was  to  get  down 
and  go  to  the  agonized  woman's  aid ;  her  second, 


Annie  and  Isabel.  317 

and  controlling,  thought,  was  to  stop  where  she 
was,  and  see  and  hear  all  that  was  going. 

Annie  seemed  to  recover  her  strength,  if  not  her 
composure.  She  wrung  her  hands  wildly  and  talked 
with  strange  incoherence  aloud  to  herself.  Once 
she  started,  as  if  to  cross  the  stile  again  and  return 
to  the  house  of  mourning,  but  drew  back.  At  last, 
walking  straight  ahead,  like  one  in  a  dream,  she 
moved  toward  her  home. 

Samantha  followed  at  a  safe  distance,  marvelling 
deeply. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

BETWEEN  THE  BREAD-PAN  AND  THE  CHURN. 

"  WELL,  I  don'  knaow  's  I  go's  fur's  Sabriny,  V 
say  ther's  a  cuss  on  th'  fam'ly,  V  thet  M'tildy  War- 
ren put  it  there,  fur  after  all,  three  deaths  hand- 
runnin'  in  tew  years  ain't  an  onheerd-of  thing,  but 
I  don't  blame  her  fur  gittin'  daown-hearted  over  it. 
Poor  ole  creetur,  she's  be'n  a  carryin'  the  hull  load 
o'  grief  on  her  shoulders  sence  Sissly  died.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  it  'd  be  tew  much  for  her  naow." 

Alvira  sighed,  and  let  her  eyes  wander  compas- 
sionately from  the  kneading  board  and  its  batch  of 
dough  to  the  old,  cushioned  arm  chair  by  the  kit- 
chen stove  where  Aunt  Sabrina  customarily  sat. 
This  last  bereavement  had  rendered  the  hired-girl 
almost  sentimental  in  her  attitude  toward  the  stricken 
old  maid — so  much  so  that  when  young  Samantha 
Lawton  dropped  in,  toward  evening,  and  offered  to 
sit  down  in  this  chair,  Alvira  had  sharply  warned 
her  to  take  another. 

The  girl  had  brought  a  note  over  from  Annie  to 
Seth,  and  was  not  a  little  vexed  that  Alvira  should 
have  taken  it  from  her,  and  gone  upstairs  to  deliver 
it  herself,  instead  of  allowing  the  messenger  to  com- 
plete her  errand.  She  declined,  therefore,  to  display 


Between  the  Bread-pan  and  the  Churn.    319 

any  interest  in  the  subject  of  the  aged  aunt,  and 
warmed  her  hands  over  the  glowing  stove-griddles 
in  silence.  The  elder  Lawton  girl,  Melissa,  resting 
for  a  moment  from  her  churning,  turned  the  talk 
into  a  more  personal  channel. 

"  Fur  my  part,  I  think  it's  a  pesky  shame,  where 
there's  three  big  strappin'  men  'raoun'  th'  haouse, 
to  make  a  girl  wag  this  old  churn-dash  till  her  arms 
are  ready  to  drop  off.  'N'  I'll  tell  'em  sao,  tew." 

"  I  sh'd  thought  Dany'd  done  it  fur  yeh  "  said  her 
younger  sister,  with  a  grin.  "  He  allus  seemed  to 
me  to  be  soft  enough  to  do  all  yer  work  fur  yeh,  ef 
you'd  let  him." 

"  Not  he !  Both  he  'n'  Leander  ain't  so  much  's 
lifted  a  finger  'raoun'  th'  haouse  to-day.  They're 
off  daown  to  th'  corners,  hangin'  raoun'  th'  store,  'n' 
swoppin*  yarns  'baout  th'  accident.  They  wouldn't 
keer  'f  I  churned  away  here  till  I  spit  blood.  In  th' 
mornin'  he'll  be  awful  sorry,  of  course,  'n'  swear  he 
furgot  all  'baout  Wednesday's  bein'  churnin'  day. 
Thet's  th'  man  of  it !  " 

"  'N'  I  s'pose  Milton  never  does  nothin'  'baout  th' 
haouse  naowadays,"  remarked  Samantha,  interroga- 
tively. 

"  No,  siree  ! "  snapped  Alvira.  "  You  bet  he 
daon't !  He's  tew  high  'n'  mighty  fur  thet !  Prob'ly 
he's  furgot  so  much  as  th'  name  of  a  churn,  even. 
He  might  git  his  broadcloth  suit  spotted,  tew.  I 
wouldn't  dream  o'  askin'  him.  I'd  ruther  ask  Seth 
any  day  then  I  hed  Milton.  He  don't  put  on  half 
so  many  airs,  even  if  he  does  git  thirty  dollars  a 


320  Settts  Brother's   Wife. 

week  in  Tecumseh,  'n'  live  'mong  ladies  V  gentle- 
men ev'ry  day  'f  his  life." 

Melissa  rested  from  her  labors  again,  to  say  sneer- 
ingly :  "  Pritty  ladies  'n'  gentlemen  he  use't  to  travel 
with,  there  in  Tecumsy,  accordin'  to  all  accaounts!" 

Alvira  paused  in  turn,  with  her  arms  to  the  elbow 
in  the  floury  mixing,  and  an  angry  glitter  in  her 
little  black  eyes.  "  Ef  I  was  some  folks,  'n'  hed  some 
folk's  relations  in  Tecumsy,  'pears  to  me  I'd  keep 
my  maouth  pritty  blamed  shut  'baout  what  goes  on 
there ! " 

The  retort  was  ample.  There  was  no  answering 
sound,  save  the  muffled  splash  and  thud  of  Melissa's 
vigorously-resumed  churning. 

The  lull  in  conversation  was  beginning  to  grow 
oppressive  when  the  young  visitor  asked :  "  Haow 
does  th'  fine  lady  take  it?" 

"  She  seems  more  opset  than  anyone'd  given  her 
credit  fur,"  Alvira  answered,  sententiously. 

Melissa  interposed  to  expand  this  comment,  and 
rest  her  arms :  "  Yes,  she  seems  opset  enough. 
P'raps  she  is.  But  then  agin,  p'raps  ef  you  was 
young  'n'  good  lookin',  with  blew  eyes  'n'  a  lot  o' 
yalleh  hair  thet  was  all  yer  own,  'n'  you  hed  a  hus- 
ban'  twice  as  old  as  you  was,  'n'  he  sh'd  fall  daown 
'n'  break  his  neck,  'n'  leave  you  a  rich  young  widder, 
p'raps  you'd  cry  yer  eyes  aout — when  people  was 
lookin' — speshly  if  thet  husban'  o'  yours  left  a  likely 
young  brother  who  was  soft  on  yeh.  When  you  git 
as  old  's  I  be,  S'manthy,  you'll  learn  ther's  a  good 
deal  in  appear'nces." 


Between  the  Bread-pan  and  the  Churn.    321 

"When  she  gits  as  old  as  you  air,"  broke  in 
Alvira,  sharply,  "  I  hope  she'll  learn  better  'n'  to 
blab  everythin'  thet  comes  into  her  head!  You'll 
let  that  cream  break,  ef  yeh  don't  look  aout !" 

u  I  don't  b'lieve  its  within  an  'aour  o'  comin' " 
said  Melissa,  wearily  resuming  her  task. 

"  No,   but — reelly,"    began    Samantha,   "  is  Seth 

"  Never  you  mind  whether  Seth  is  or  whether  he 
isn't,"  answered  Alvira.  "A  young  tadpole  of  a 
girl  like  you's  got  no  business  pryin'  'raoun'  older 
folks'  affairs.  You  better  go  home !  M'tildy  may 
need  yeh.  Yer  sister's  got  her  work  to  dew,  'n'  so 
Ve  I." 

This  plain  intimation  produced  no  effect  upon 
Samantha.  She  continued  to  warm  her  hands, 
which  were  already  the  hue  of  a  red  apple  with 
the  heat,  and  remarked :  "  No,  she  don'  want  me. 
Annie  said  I  might  stay  's  long  's  I  wanted  to.  She 
said  she  wanted  to  be  left  alone.  She's  abaout  the 
wuss  broke  up  girl  7  ever  sot  eyes  on.  You  ought 
to  see  the  way  sJie  takes  on,  though.  I  bet  the 
widder  ain't  a  succumstance  to  her.  Ef  you'd  seen 
what  /  saw,  'n'  heern  what  /  heerd  this  afternoon,  I 
guess  you'd  think  so  tew." 

The  girl  spoke  calmly,  with  a  satisfied  conviction 
that  nobody  would  tell  her  to  go  home  again  in  a 
hurry. 

"  What  was  it  ? "  came  simultaneously  from  the 
kneading-board  and  the  churn. 

"  Oh,  I  dunnao, — I  ain't  much  of  a  han'  to  blab 


322  SeMs  Brothers   Wife. 

everythin'.     A  young  tadpole  of  a  girl  like  me,  yeh 

knaow,  ain't  got  no  business " 

i     "Come  naow!     Dorit  be  a.  fool,  S'manthy!     Ef 
you've  got  anythin'  to  say,  spit  it  aout !" 

Thus  adjured  by  the  commanding  tones  of  Alvira, 
the  girl  trifled  no  more,  but  related  what  she  had 
seen,  while  hidden  behind  the  thorns.  She  had  a 
talent  for  description,  and  made  so  much  of  Annie's 
stony  face  and  strange  behavior,  that  she  succeeded 
in  producing  an  effect  of  mystification  upon  her 
listeners  scarcely  second  to  that  under  which  she, 
as  an  involuntary  spectator,  had  labored.  The 
success  of  her  recital  was  not  lost  upon  Samantha, 
as  she  went  on : 

"  Et  was  after  th'  undertaker's  waggin  'n'  th'  men 
— some  gallus  lookin'  young  fellers,  f'm  Tecumsey 
I  guess,  was  amongst  'em — et  was  after  these'd  all 
gone  by,  thet  I  heerd  her  talk.  She  kind  o'  hid 
herself  in  th'  bushes  while  they  was  a  goin'  by,  'n* 
stared  at  'em  like  mad,  ez  fur's  she  c'd  folly  'em.  Then 
she  bust  aout — not  a-cryin'  mind  yeh,  fur  she  never 
shed  a  tear — but  wringin'  her  han's  'n'  groanin'  'n' 
actin'  's  ef  she  was  goin'  to  faint.  I  c'd  see  her  jest 
ez  plain  's  I  kin  see  you  stan'in'  there  naow,  'n'  heer 
her,  tew.  All  to  onc't  she  up  'n'  said " 

The  young  girl  stopped  here  in  the  narrative 
abruptly,  with  a  fine  disregard  for  the  consuming 
interest  with  which  her  companions  were  regarding 
her ;  she  lifted  her  nose,  and  drew  two  or  three 
leisured  sniffs.  Then  she  bent  down  at  the  side  of 
the  stove  and  repeated  them. 


Between  the  Bread-pan  and  the   Churn.    323 

"  Ther's  somethin'  burnin'  in  thet  oven,"  she  said 
at  last,  confidently. 

"  Et's  th'  barley.  I  knowed  S'briny  'd  traipse  off 
'n'  leave  it.  She  allus  does;"  said  Alvira,  flinging 
open  the  oven  door,  and  dragging  out  with  her 
apron  a  smoking  pan  of  scorched  grain. 

Through  the  dense,  pungent  smudge  which  tem- 
porarily filled  the  room,  Samantha  was  heard  to 
remark  with  offensive  emphasis :  "  We  allus  drink 
genu-wine  coffee  over  to  M'tildy's.  She's  mean 
enough  'baout  some  things,  but  she  wouldn't  make 
us  swell  ourselves  aout  with  no  barley-wash." 

"  'N'  sao  do  we  here,  tew — all  but  S'briny  !  "  re- 
torted Alvira,  indignantly.  "  She  got  use'  to  drinkin' 
it  in  war-times,  when  yeh  couldn't  git  reel  coffee  fur 
love  n'r  money,  jes'  ez  all  th'  other  farm-folks  did. 
On'y  she's  more  contrary  'n'  th'  rest,  'n'  she  wouldn't 
drink  nothin'  else  naow,  not  ef  yeh  poured  it  into 
her  maouth  with  a  funnel.  But  go  on  'th  yer  yarn ! " 

Samantha  had  to  cough  a  little,  on  account  of  the 
smoke,  and  then  it  took  her  some  moments  to  col- 
lect the  thread  of  her  narrative.  But  at  last  even 
the  spirit  of  Tantalus  could  invent  no  further  delay, 
and  she  proceeded : 

"  Well,  she  didn't  say  much,  fer  a  fact,  but  they 
was  business  in  ev'ry  word  she  did  say.  Fust  she 
hollered  aout — right  aout,  I  tell  yeh :  ^Efs  a  wicked 
lie !  She's  a  bad,  wicked  woman  !  '  Then  she 
stopped  fer  awhile  'n'  put  her  han's  up  to  her 
for'id — like  this.  Then  she  shuk  herself,  'n'  com- 
menced to  climb  back  over  th'  stile,  but  she  seemed 


324  Set  Us  Brothers   Wife. 

to  think  better  of  it,  V  started  fer  her  own  haouse, 
like  's  ef  she  was  awalkin'  in  her  sleep,  'n'  a  groanin' 
to  herself:  '  Seth  a  murd'rer!  Seth  a  murderer!' 
Thet's  what  I  heerd  !  " 

The  girl  put  both  feet  up  on  the  stove  hearth, 
and  tilted  her  chair  back  in  conscious  triumph. 
"  Got  'n'  apple  handy  ? "  she  inquired  of  Alvira, 
carelessly,  in  the  tone  of  one  whose  position  in  life 
was  assured. 

To  this  strange '  recital,  involving  such  terrible 
suggestions,  there  succeeded  a  full  minute  of  silence 
in  the  kitchen,  broken  only  by  the  ponderous  cluck- 
ing of  the  high  wooden  clock.  Alvira  and  Melissa 
looked  at  each  other  dumbly — each  for  once  willing 
to  forego  the  first  word. 

"  Well,  what  d'yeh  say  to  thct  ? "  finally  asked 
Melissa. 

After  some  reflection,  Alvira  answered,  "  I  sh'd 
say  S'manthy  was  a  lyin'." 

"  S'elp  me  die,  crisscross,  I  ain't !  "  protested  the 
girl  at  the  stove  :  "  I've  told  it  all,  jest's  it  hap- 
pened, straight's  a  string.  Where's  yer  apples  ?  " 

Alvira  meditated  again  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
said  to  her  subordinate :  "  Go  down  'n'  git  that  sister 
o'  yourn  a  Spitzenberg — 'n'  bring  up  some  cider, 
yeh  might's  well,  too." 

When  Melissa  had  gone,  Alvira  went  over  to  the 
younger  girl,  and  gripped  her  sharply  by  the  shoul- 
der :  "Look  here,  you,  is  what  you've  be'n  tellin' 
us  here  honest  ?  Don't  lie  to  me  !  " 

"  Honest  Injun  ?  Alviry  !  ev'ry  word  !  " 


Between  the  Bread-pan  and  the  Churn.    325 

Alvira  returned  to  her  dough,  and  slapped  it  sav- 
agely into  a  huge,  unnatural  pancake.  She  main- 
tained silence  until  Melissa  had  returned,  and  not 
only  supplied  her  sister's  wants,  but  poured  out  a 
cupful  of  the  new  cider  for  herself,  as  a  proof  of  her 
appreciation  of  the  Lawton  family's  supremacy  over 
the  existing  crisis.  Then  Alvira  spoke  : 

"  I  don't  'tach  th'  least  'mportance  in  th'  world  to 
what  S'manthy  heerd.  Annie's  a  school-teacher,  'n' 
she's  be'n  workin'  pritty  hard,  'n'  this  thing's  kind  o' 
opset  her — what  with  tendin'  to  her  gran'mother, 
'n'  then  this  teachin',  which  is  narvous,  wearin'  kine 
o'  work.  Thet's  th'  trewth  o'  th'  matter.  /  kin  un- 
derstan'  it.  She  was  jest  aout  of  her  senses.  But 
other  folks  won't  understan'  it  as  I  dew.  Once 
a  hint  gits  flyin'  amongst  outsiders,  who  knaows 
where  it'll  stop  ?  Naow,  girl  'n'  woman,  I've  be'n 
in  this  haouse  twenty  year  'n'  more.  I'm  more  a 
Fairchild  than  I'm  anythin'  else.  I  remember  th' 
man  in  there — layin'  dead  in  th'  parlor — when  he 
was  a  youngster,  comin'  home  f'm  college ;  I  re- 
member Seth  when  he  was  a  baby.  I  ain't  got 
no  folks  of  my  own  thet  I  keer  a  thaousandth  part 
's  much  abaout,  nur  owe  a  thaousandth  part  's 
much  tew,  ez  I  dew  this  Fairchile  fam'ly.  Well! 
They've  hed  trouble  enough,  this  las'  tew  year, 
'thout  havin'  any  added  onto  it  by  th'  tattlin',  gos- 
sipin'  tongues  of  outsiders.  I  ain't  goin'  to  hev  it ! 
D'yeh  understan' !  Ef  I  heer  s'much  's  a  whisper  of 
this  yere  crazy  school-teacher's  nonsense  reported 
'raound,  by  th'  Lord  above,  I'll  skin  yeh  both  alive  !  " 


326  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

"  Who's  b'en  a  gossipin'  ?  "  asked  Samantha,  re- 
proachfully. "  I  shouldn't  never  said  a  word,  ef  you 
hadn't  insisted,  'n'  called  me  a  fool  fur  holdin'  my 
tongue." 

"  I  dunnao  where  you'll  gao  to  when  you  die, 
S'manthy,"  said  Alvira,  reflectively.  "  But  nao,  girls, 
trewly  naow,  this  mustn't  be  mentioned.  Yeh  kin 
see  with  half  'n  eye  what  a  raow  it'd  stir  up.  Naow 
prommus  me,  both  o'  yeh,  thet  not  a  word  of  it  shell 
pass  yer  lips.  Yeh  can  see  fer  yerself  haow  foolish 
it  is !  Ev'rybody  knaows  he  driv  off  th'  raoad,  'n' 
killed  himself  'n'  th'  hosses  by  th'  fall.  It's  ez  plain 
's  th'  nose  on  yer  face.  Still  it's  jest  sech  cases  as 
this  thet  people  git  talkin'  abaout,  once  they're  sot 
goin' — so  yeh  will  promise  me,  won't  yeh  ?  " 

They  promised. 

"  Hon'r  bright,  ye'll  never  say  a  word  to  nao  livin' 
soul  ?" 

They  asseverated  solemnly,  honor  bright,  and 
Samantha  had  a  doughnut  as  well  as  another  cup 
of  cider. 

The  tiresome  butter  came  at  last,  and  the  dough 
passed  into  a  higher  form  of  existence  through 
the  fiery  ordeal  of  the  oven ;  supper  was  laid  and 
silently  eaten ;  two  neighbors,  volunteers  for  the 
night-watch  with  the  dead,  came,  and  were  ushered 
into  the  gloomy  parlor ;  while  apples,  cheese,  dough- 
nuts and  a  pitcher  of  cider  were  placed  on  the  table 
outside,  for  their  refreshment  in  the  small  hours. 
Night  fell  upon  the  farm. 


Between  the  Bread-pan  and  the  Churn.    327 

Melissa  Lawton  stole  out-doors  as  soon  as  Alvira 
retired  to  her  room,  and  made  her  way  through  the 
darkness  to  the  barns.  As  Albert  had  done  on  the 
fatal  previous  evening,  she  opened  the  sliding  door 
of  the  big  stable,  and  called  up  the  stairs  to  Milton. 
There  was  no  response,  and  investigation  showed 
that  he  was  not  in  his  room,  although  the  lamp  was 
burning  dimly.  The  girl  stopped  long  enough  to 
look  over  the  familiar  coarse  pictures  on  the  walls 
and  the  shelf,  and  then  crept  down  the  steep  stairs 
again. 

As  she  groped  her  way  through  the  blackness  to 
the  stable  door  she  came  suddenly  in  contact  with  a 
person  entering,  and  felt  herself  rudely  seized  and 
pushed  back  at  arms'  length. 

"  Who's  here  ?  What  d'yeh  want  ?  "  demanded  a 
harsh  voice,  which  seemed  despite  its  gruffness  to 
betray  great  trepidation. 

"  It's  me — M'lissy ! " 

"  Come  along  aout  here  into  the  light,  so  I  kin  see 
yeh.  What  a'  yeh  doin'  here,  praowlin'  'raoun'  'n 
th'  dark,  skeerin'  people  fur  ?  " 

The  Lawton  girl's  native  assurance  all  came  back 
to  her  as  she  confronted  Milton  in  the  dim  star- 
light outside — which  was  radiance  by  contrast  with 
the  stable's  total  darkness — and  she  grinned  satiri- 
cally at  him. 

"  You've  got  a  nerve  on  you  like  a  maouse,  I 
swaow  !  You  trembled  all  over  when  yeh  tuk  holt 
o'  me,  in  there.  What  was  yeh  skeert  abaout  ?  I 
wouldn't  hurt  yeh  !  " 


328  Set /is  Brother's  Wife. 

"  I  wa'n't  skeert,"  the  man  replied,  sullenly. 
"  What  was  yeh  after  in  there  ?  " 

"  I  was  lookin'  fur  you." 

"  What  fur  ?  "  The  tone  was  still  uneasily  sus- 
picious. 

"  I  got  somethin'  to  tell  yeh." 

"Well?" 

"  D'yeh  knaow,  I  more'n  half  b'lieve  this  thing 
wa'n't  an  accident  at  all.  What'd  yeh  say  'f  it  sh'd 
turn  aout  to  be  a  murder  ?  " 

Even  in  this  faint  light  Melissa  could  see  that 
Milton  was  much  taken  aback  by  the  suggestion. 
He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  pulled  them 
out  again,  shuffled  his  feet,  stammered,  and  betrayed 
by  other  signs  general  among  rustics  his  surprise. 

"  Pshaw — git  aout !  "  he  said  at  last ;  "  what 
nonsense !  Of  caourse  't  was  'n  accident.  Didn't 
th'  Cor'ner  say  sao  ?  Daon't  ev'rybody  knaow  it  ?  " 

"  Annie  Fairchile  don't  say  sao.  She  don't  knaow 
it." 

The  girl  went  on  to  relate  the  substance  of  Sa- 
mantha's  revelations,  adding  unconsciously  sundry 
embellishments  which  tended  to  throw  a  clearer 
light  upon  Seth  as  the  chief  figure  in  the  mystery. 

Milton  listened  with  deep  attentiveness.  His 
slow,  inefficient  brain  worked  hard  to  keep  up  with 
the  recital,  and  assimilate  its  chief  points.  When  the 
girl  had  finished  he  still  thought  steadily  on  this 
strange  story,  with  its  unforeseen,  startling  sugges- 
tions. Gradually  two  items  took  shape  in  his  mind  as 
most  important :  that  Annie  believed  Seth  to  be  the 


Between  the  Bread-pan  and  the  Churn.   329 

criminal,  and  hence  would  be  estranged  from  him  ; 
and  that  if  by  any  unexpected  means  people  came 
to  suspect  foul  play,  here  were  the  elements  of  a 
ready-made  suspicion  against  Seth.  The  first  of 
these  was  very  welcome ;  it  would  be  time  enough 
to  think  of  the  other  if  a  discovery  were  made. 

"  What  dew  I  think  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  in  response 
to  the  girl's  repeated  inquiries.  "  I  think  thet  sister 
o'  yourn  lied,  'n'  I  think  yeh  better  keep  yer 
maouth,  'n'  her'n  tew,  pritty  dum  shet,  ef  yeh  don't 
want  to  git  into  trouble." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  BOSS  LOOKS  INTO  THE  MATTER. 

"  COUSIN  SETH— There  are  reasons  why  I  cannot 
come  to  the  house  again,  even  to  the  funeral ;  and 
why  I  shall  not  see  you  again  during  your  stay.  I 
think  you  will  understand  them.  If  you  explain  to 
Aunt  Sabrina  that  I  am  ill,  it  will  not  be  a  false- 
hood. I  have  been  and  am  suffering — terribly. 
But  nobody  can  help  me,  save  by  leaving  me  to  my- 
self. I  am  trying  to  forget,  too,  everything  that 
was  said  when  we  last  talked  together,  and  I  shall 
succeed.  Never  fear,  I  shall  succeed. 

A." 

It  was  this  note,  scrawled  in  a  hand  very  unlike 
Miss  Annie's  customary  prim,  school-teacher's  writ- 
ing, which  Samantha  had  borne  over  from  the 
Warren  house.  Seth  had  studied  it,  perplexedly, 
for  a  long  time  on  the  evening  of  its  arrival.  He 
ruminated  now  again  upon  it,  as  he  walked  along 
the  road  toward  Thessaly,  the  following  forenoon. 
The  temptation  to  confide  the  thing  to  John,  who 
had  stayed  over  night  with  him  at  the  homestead, 
and  now  was  walking  silently  by  his  side  toward  the 
village,  wavered  in  his  mind.  Perhaps  John  could 
assist  him  to  comprehend  it ;  but  then,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  explain  so  much  to  him  first.  Finally 
the  arguments  in  favor  of  confession  triumphed,  and 


The  Boss  Looks  into  the  Matter.     331 

with  a  "  Here,  old  man  ;  this  is  a  letter  from  Annie. 
I  want  you  to  help  me  guess  what  it  means,"  he 
made  the  plunge. 

John  read  the  note  carefully.  "  What  was  it  you 
talked  about  on  this  occasion  she  refers  to,  and 
when  was  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"It  was  night  before  last,  the  night,  and  I  asked 
her  to  marry  me." 

"And  what  was  her  answer? — I'll  tell  you  after- 
ward how  glad  I  am  to  hear  what  you've  just  told 
me." 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  decisive — but  she  admitted  that 
it  made  her  very  happy." 

"And  you  haven't  seen  her  since?" 

"  No — or  yes !  I  did.  I  met  her  just  for  a  moment 
yesterday  forenoon,  as  I  was  starting  out  from  the 
house  after  hearing — the  news.  We  only  exchanged 
a  word  or  two,  though." 

"  Did  she  seem  angry  with  you  then  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all !  " 

"  Well,  what  can  have  happened  since  ?  Try  and 
think !  She  has  reasons,  she  says,  which  she  thinks 
you  will  understand.  When  a  woman  says  she  has 
'  reasons '  she  means  that  some  mischief-maker  has 
told  her  something  disagreeable.  Now — 
\  "  Oh,  my  God !  I  see  it  now ! "  Seth  stopped 
short  in  the  road,  and  clenched  his  fists. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  She  went  into  the  house,  and  saw  Isabel !  "  Seth 
continued,  as  if  talking  to  himself. 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 


332  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

Seth  looked  up  at  his  brother  with  a  blanching 
face,  in  which  fright  and  amazement  blended. 
"  What  is  that  line  of  Congreve's  about  Hell  having 
no  fury  like  a  woman  scorned  ?  "  he  asked  mechani- 
cally. 

It  was  John's  turn  to  stare.  Gradually  a  light 
began  to  spread  in  his  mind,  and  make  things  visible 
whose  existence  he  had  not  suspected  before.  "  Well, 
you  are  a  simpleton  !  "  he  said. 

"  Don't  I  know  it  ?  "  was  the  pained,  contrite  re- 
sponse. 

The  brothers  walked  on  a  few  yards  in  silence. 
Then  John  said  "  Of  course,  you  needn't  tell  me  any 
more  of  this  than  you  want  to — but  at  least  I  can 
ask  you — how  much  of  a  fool  have  you  made  of 
yourself  up  at  the  farm  ?" 

"  That's  hard  to  say.  Just  now  I'm  inclined  to 
think  that  I  am  the  champion  ass  of  the  world." 

"  Well,  you're  displaying  some  sense  now,  anyway. 
What  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  done  anything.  That's  the  foolish 
part  of  it  all." 

John  stopped  in  turn,  and  looked  his  brother's 
face  attentively  over.  "  Go  on,  now,"  he  said,  "  and 
tell  me  what  there  is  of  it.  There's  no  use  in  my 
butting  my  brains  out  against  a  stone  wall,  guessing 
at  such  an  inscrutable  mess  as  this  seems  to  be." 

"  It's  hard  to  tell — there  isn't  anything  specially  to 
tell.  I  simply  got  sort  of  sentimental  about  Isabel, 
you  know — she  was  lonely  and  disappointed  in  life, 
and  my  coming  to  the  farm  was  about  the  only 


The  Boss  Looks  into  the  Matter.      333 

chance  for  company  she  got,  and  all  that — and  then 
I  found  the  thing  might  go  too  far  and  so  I  stopped 
it — and  to  clinch  the  thing,  asked  Annie  to  marry 
me.  That's  what  there  is  of  it." 

"  That's  good  as  far  as  it  goes.  Go  on,  youngster ; 
out  with  the  rest  of  it !  " 

"  I  tell  you  that  is  all." 

"  Humbug !  Annie  never  wrote  this  letter  on  the 
strength  of  such  philandering  nonsense  as  that. 
You  say  Isabel  must  have  told  her  something. 
What  was  that  something  ?  Do  you  know  ?  " 

"Yes!"  The  answer  was  so  full  of  despondent 
pain,  that  John's  sympathy  rose  above  his  fraternal 
censoriousness. 

"Come,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "you'd  better  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  It  won't  seem  half  so  bad,  once 
you've  told  me.  And  if  I  can  help  you,  you  know 
I  will." 

"Well,  I  o/*7/tell  you,  John.  Night  before  last, 
Monday  night,  I  had  hard  words  with  Albert,  up  at 
the  house.  You  know  how  he  sent  for  me,  insisted 
on  my  coming,  and  what  he  wanted.  Of  course  I 
could  only  say  no,  and  we  quarreled.  Toward  the 
end  we  raised  our  voices,  and  Isabel,  who  was  up- 
stairs, overheard  us.  Just  then  he  began  about  me 
and  her — it  seems  he  had  noticed  or  heard  some- 
thing— and  she,  hearing  her  name,  took  it  for  granted 
the  whole  quarrel  was  about  her.  I  went  upstairs, 
and  presently  he  drove  out  of  the  yard  with  the 
grays.  I  couldn't  sleep,  I  was  so  agitated  by  the 
idea  of  our  rupture,  and  I  went  out  to  walk  it  off. 


334  SetKs  Brothers  Wife. 

It  was  while  I  was  out  that  I  met  Annie  and  had 
the  talk  I  have  told  you  about.  Then  I  came  home, 
went  to  bed,  and  slept  till  after  ten — long  after 
everybody  else  had  heard  the  news.  I  heard  of  it 
first  from  Isabel,  and  she — she " 

He  came  to  an  abrupt  halt.  The  duty  of  saying 
nothing  which  should  incriminate  the  woman  rose 
before  him,  and  fettered  his  tongue. 

"  And  she — what  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Well,  she  somehow  got  the  idea  that  I  had  fol- 
lowed Albert  out  and — and — was  responsible  for  his 
death  !  Now  you  have  it  all !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  They  were  nearing  the 
four  corners,  and  walking  slowly.  Finally  John,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  ground,  said :  "  And  so  that's  what 
she  has  told  Annie,  you  think?" 

"  That's  the  only  way  I  can  explain  the  note." 

"  But  Annie  couldn't  possibly  believe  such  a  thing 
as  that ! " 

"  No — but  there's  an  explanation  for  that  too. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  I  must  have  said  a  lot  of  things 
to  her,  that  night,  which  seem  now  to  her  to  fit  in 
with  this  awful  theory.  Poor  girl !  I  don't  blame 
her." 

John  answered,  after  a  pause,  "  There's  no  use  of 
my  saying  anything  to  show  you  what  a  situation 
you  are  in,  or  to  scold  you  for  it.  I  suppose  you 
realize  it  fully  enough.  What's  more  to  the  purpose, 
we  must  consider  what  is  to  be  done.  It  is  safe 
enough  to  assume  that  if  Isabel  thinks  this  and  has 
said  it  to  one  person,  either  some  one  else  will  think 


The  Boss  Looks  into  the  Matter.      335 

It,  or  she  will  hint  about  it  to  another.  The  thing 
is  too  terrible  to  have  even  one  person,  even  if  she 
were  silent  as  the  grave,  think  about  it.  The  ob- 
vious thing,  I  should  think,  would  be  to  have  a  post- 
mortem examination." 

"  I  thought  they  always  had  them  at  inquests." 

"  No,  the  Coroner  can  dispense  with  one  if  he  and 
the  jury  agree  that  it  isn't  necessary.  Timms  sent 
me  word  that  he  had  decided  to  dispense  with  one, 
in  this  case,  *  out  of  consideration  for  the  feelings  of 
the  family.'  That  means,  of  course,  that  he  wants 
the  Banner  to  help  re-elect  him  next  year.  But  now 
out  of  '  consideration  for  the  family '  we'll  have  to 
have  one.  Don't  be  so  down  in  the  mouth  about  it, 
boy  ;  it  will  all  come  right,  never  fear ! " 

The  brothers  had  reached  the  solitary  building  at 
the  corners — a  low,  dingy  store,  with  its  sloping  roof 
turned  to  the  road,  and  a  broad  platform  and  steps 
stretching  along  its  entire  front.  A  horse  and  va- 
cant buggy  stood  at  the  hitching-post.  John  pro- 
posed to  go  in  and  get  some  cigars,  if  Turner  had 
any  fit  to  smoke. 

Their  surprise  was  great  at  meeting  on  the  steps 
Mr.  Beekman  of  Jay  County,  who  was  coming  out. 
After  terse  salutations  had  been  exchanged,  Beek- 
man said : 

"  Lucky  you  fellows  come  daown  jest  ez  yeh  did. 
I  come  over  this  mornin'  a-purpose  to  see  yeh,  'n* 
yit  I  didn't  quite  like  to  go  up  to  th'  farm.  I've  got 
ever  so  many  things  I  want  to  ask  yeh,  'n'  say  to  yeh." 

He  led  the  way  over  to  the  farther  end  of  the 


336  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

steps,  and,  following  his  example  of  sitting  down 
on  the  platform,  they  waited  curiously  for  him  to 
proceed : 

"  Fust  of  all,  I  was  daown  to  Tecumsy  last  night, 
'n'  saw  Workman.  He  said  you  "  — turning  to  Seth — 
"  needn't  worry  yerself  'baout  comin'  back  till  yeh 
was  ready.  They  kin  keep  th'  paper  runnin'  for  a 
week  or  sao,  while  you  stay  up  here  'n'  dew  yer 
duty  like  a  Christian." 

Seth  said  he  was  much  obliged,  and  then  asked 
how  it  happened  that  Beekman  had  posted  off  to 
Tecumseh — over  seventy  miles — and  returned  so 
soon. 

"  Well,  there  was  some  things  I  wanted  to  see 
abaout  daown  there,  'n'  more  thet  I'm  interested  in 
keepin'  an  eye  on  up  here.  So  I  kind  o'  humped 
myself." 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  taking  such  an  interest  in 
Ansdell's  campaign,"  said  John. 

Mr.  Beekman's  gaunt  visage  relaxed  for  a  second  : 
"  So  yeh  calc'late  thefs  what  I'm  buzzin'  'raoun'  th' 
State  fur,  do  yeh  ?  Yeh  never's  more  mistaken  in 
yer  life.  I've  heerd  reports  circ'latin'  'raoun'  thet 
ther'd  be  a.n  election  a  fortni't  qr  so  from  naow,  'n' 
thet  Ansdell  'n'  I  was  concerned  in  it,  but  yeh  can't 
prove  it  by  us.  We  ain't  s'  much  as  give  a  thought 
to  politics  sence  th'  Convention  ended.  Weve  got 
somethin'  else  to  occupy  aour  minds  with  b'sides 
politics.  I  got  a  telegraph  dispatch  from  him,  sent 
from  New  York  this  mornin',  thet  I  want  to  talk  to 
yeh  'baout  presently,  but  fust " 


The  Boss  Looks  into  the  Matter.      337 

"  Ansdell  in  New  York?"  asked  Seth,  all  curiosity 
now. 

"  Yes,  he  went  on  daown,  while  I  got  off  at  Te- 
cumsy,  'n'  I  sh'd  jedge  from  his  telegraph  thet  he'd 
be'n  on  the  go  some  sence  he  got  there.  But  what 
I  want  to  ask  yeh  'baout  is  this :  Do  yeh  knaow 
haow  much  money  yer  brother  hed  on  him  night 
'fore  last,  when  he  was — when  he  met  his  death  ?  " 

The  brothers  looked  at  each  other,  then  at  the 
speaker,  "  No,"  answered  Seth,  finally.  "  We  haven't 
the  least  idea.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  I'll  come  to  that  bimeby.  Naow  next,  do  you 
knaow  where  he  was  th*  day  b'fore  th'  Convention  ? 
— thet  is,  Monday." 

"  Yes,  I  can  tell  you  that.  He  was  in  New  York. 
He  only  got  back  Monday  evening." 

"  Pre-cisely.  Well,  naow,  do  yeh  knaow  what  he 
went  there  for  ?  " 

"  No.  Something  connected  with  politics,  I  sup- 
pose, but  I  can't  say  for  certain.  He  had  business 
there  very  often,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  knaow.  But  he  hed  very  special  business 
this  last  time.  Naow  look  at  this  telegram." 

The  two  took  the  oblong  sheet,  and  read : 

"New  York — Oct.  21.  9.42  A.M.  Unexpectedly 
easy  sailing.  Found  clue  to  money  almost  without 
looking.  Fancy  now  must  been  sixteen  instead  ten. 
Hope  return  to-night.  ANSDELL." 

"  Well,  still  I  am  in  the  dark,"  John  said,  after 
reading  and  re-reading  the  dispatch.  "  What  is  it 
all  about  ?  I  suppose  you  understand  it." 


338  Seth' s  Brother's   Wife. 

"  I'm  beginnin'  to  see  a  leetle  ways  threw  th'  mill- 
stone, I  think,  myself,"  replied  Beekman.  "  But  it's 
all  so  uncert'n  yit,  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'  thet 
I  can't  back  up  later  on." 

Seth  too  had  been  busily  pondering  the  dis- 
patch, and  he  said  now,  with  a  flushing  face :  "  / 
know  what  you  think !  You  and  Ansdell  have  got 
an  idea  there  was  foul  play  !  " 

"  Well,  yes,  it  ain't  much  more'n  an  idee,  yit ;  "  as- 
sented Beekman. 

"  What  do  you  base  your  idea  on  ?  "  demanded 
John,  full  of  a  nameless,  growing  fright  lest  there 
might  be  something  further  which  Seth's  confession 
had  not  revealed. 

"  Jest  you  wait  one  day  more,"  said  the  Boss  of 
Jay  County,  grimly,  "  one  day  more  '11  dew.  Then 
I  miss  my  guess  ef  we  ain't  in  shape  to  tell  yeh. 
Fust  of  all,  there's  got  to  be  a  post-mortem." 

John's  impulse  was  to  say  that  he  and  Seth  had 
already  agreed  upon  this,  but  a  second  thought 
checked  his  tongue. 

"  'N'  it'll  hev  to  be  on  th'  quiet.  Everything  de- 
pends on  thet — on  keepin'  it  dark.  There's  some 
folks  might  get  skeered,  'n'  complicate  things,  ef  it 
ain't  kep'  mum.  'N'  thet's  what  I  wanted  to  ask 
yeh  'baout.  I've  thought  of  Dr.  Bacon,  over  at 
Thessaly,  'n'  Dr.  Pierce  daown  at  the  Springs. 
They're  both  good  men,  'n'  got  level  heads  on  'em. 
What  d'yeh  say  to  them  ?  " 

"  I've  no  objection  to  them  in  the  world,  but  the 
Coroner " 


The  Boss  Looks  into  the  Matter.     339 

"  Oh,  I  know  'bout  him.  He's  th'  blamedest 
fool  in  th'  caounty.  Over  in  Jay  we  wouldn't  elect 
sech  a  dumb-head  to  be  hog-reeve.  But  you  'n' 
Ansdell  kin  fix  it  with  him  to-morrow,  'n'  I'll  drive 
to-day  'n'  see  both  doctors,  'n'  put  'em  straight.  'N' 
naow  yeh  must  prommus  me,  both  of  yeh,  thet  yeh 
won't  breathe  a  word  of  this  to  any  livin'  soul." 

They  promised,  and  he  climbed  into  his  buggy, 
and  gathered  up  the  reins.  "  Oh,  there's  one  thing 
more,"  he  said,  on  reflection.  "  P'raps  you  wonder 
why  I'm  takin'  so  much  on  myself.  I'll  tell  yeh 
bimeby.  I've  got  my  reasons.  I'm  mixed  up  in  it, 
more'n  you'd  think." 

He  turned  about,  and  drove  off  briskly  toward 
Thessaly.  The  brothers  stood  in  perplexed  silence 
by  the  roadside  for  some  minutes.  There  was 
surely  enough  to  think  about. 

At  last,  with  a  frank  gesture,  John  stretched  his 
hand  out  to  Seth  : 

"  Old  boy,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  how  this 
thing  is  coming  out,  but  we'll  see  it  through  to- 
gether. You  go  down  to  the  office  and  wait  for  me. 
You  might  do  some  things  to  fill  up  the  paper  this 
week  if  you've  got  nerve  enough.  I'm  going  back 
to  the  farm." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

JOHN'S  DELICATE   MISSION. 

WHILE  Seth  tried  to  divert  his  thoughts  at  the 
Banner  office  by  going  over  the  freshly-arrived 
batch  of  morning  dailies,  and  fastening  his.  atten- 
tion upon  their  political  editorials  and  reports  of 
speeches  instead  of  their  displayed  and  minute  re- 
ports of  the  sensational  tragedy  in  Tallman's  ravine — 
John  Fairchild  retraced  his  steps  toward  the  farm. 
He  had  a  definite  purpose  in  his  mind — to  confront 
and  silence  Isabel — and  he  strove  hard  as  he  went 
along  to  plan  how  this  should  be  done,  and  what  he 
should  say. 

He  felt  that  his  dominant  emotion  was  wrath 
against  this  sister-in-law  of  his,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  strode  along  that  he  had  never  liked  her. 
He  could  recall  the  summer  a  dozen  years  before 
when  she  came  to  the  farm  as  a  visiting  cousin. 
He  had  been  civil  to  her  then,  even  companionable, 
for  she  was  bright,  spirited,  in  a  word  good  com- 
pany, but  it  seemed  to  him  now  that  even  then  he 
had  suspected  the  treachery  ingrained  in  her  na- 
ture— that  he  had  been  instinctively  repelled  by 
those  hateful  qualities,  dormant  in  her  girlhood, 
which  were  later  to  plot  infidelity  to  one  of  his 


Johns  Delicate  Mission.  341 

brothers,  and  lure  into  trouble,  shame,  perhaps  even 
crime,  the  other. 

This  latter  phase  of  her  work  was  peculiarly  abom- 
inable in  John's  eyes.  He  was  not  goipg  to  get  up 
any  special  indignation  on  the  first  count  of  the 
indictment ;  a  bachelor  of  nearly  forty  who  marries  • 
a  sentimental  young  girl  does  it  at  his  own  risk, 
John  felt,  and  Albert  had  invited  just  this  sort  of 
thing  by  exiling  her  to  a  farm,  and  forcing  her 
romantic  mind  to  feed  on  itself.  But  that  she 
should  have  selected  Seth — her  own  husband's 
brother,  the  Benjamin  of  the  flock,  a  veritable  child 
in  such  matters — to  practise  her  arts  upon,  was 
grievously  unpardonable.  To  be  sure,  Seth  ought 
to  have  had  more  sense.  But  then  John,  habitually 
thinking  of  him  as  "  the  youngster,"  thought  he 
could  see  how  he  had  been  led  on,  step  by  step,  never 
realizing  the  vicious  tendency  of  it  all,  until  he  had 
all  at  once  found  himself  on  the  brink  of  a  swift  de- 
scent. Then,  to  do  the  boy  justice,  he  seemed  to 
have  stopped  short,  turned  his  back  upon  the  siren, 
and  for  the  sake  of  further  security,  irrevocably 
committed  himself  to  Annie.  He  had  been  sadly 
weak  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  affair,  no  doubt ;  but 
this  last  course  appeared  manly  and  sensible — and 
wholly  incompatible,  too,  with  any  idea  of  malice  or 
crime  on  Seth's  part.  What  fault  there  was  belonged  • 
to  the  woman,  and  she  should  be  told  so,  too, 
straight  and  sharp. 

Thus  John's  thoughts  ran  as  he  entered  the  house, 
and  bade  the  Lawton  girl  tell  her  mistress  he  wished 


342  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

to  speak  with  her.  He  had  not  seen  Isabel  since 
her  husband's  death — she  having  kept  her  room  con- 
stantly— nor  for  a  long  time  previous.  They  had, 
indeed,  scarcely  met  more  than  half-a-dozen  times 
since  she  came  to  live  at  the  homestead,  and  then 
with  considerable  formality  on  both  sides.  As  he 
stood  by  the  stove  in  the  living-room,  awaiting  her 
coming,  he  knitted  his  brows  and  framed  some  curt, 
terse  words  of  address. 

She  entered,  clad  in  the  same  black  and  dark-gray 
wrapper  which  his  memory  associated  with  his 
mother's  funeral,  and  which  gave  the  effect  of 
height  and  slender  dignity  to  her  figure.  Her  face 
was  pale  and  pathetic  in  expression,  and  the  ghost 
of  a  smile  which  flitted  in  greeting  over  it  for  a  sec- 
ond accentuated  its  stamp  of  suffering.  She  offered 
him  her  hand,  and  said,  in  a  low  mournful  voice : 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come  to  me,  John.  I 
have  been  expecting,  hoping  you  would.  Won't 
you  take  off  your  coat  and  sit  down  ?  " 

He  had  shaken  hands  with  her,  loosened  his  over- 
coat and  taken  a  seat  before  he  had  time  to  reflect 
that  he  ought  to  have  ignored  her  greeting  and  her 
proffered  hand.  The  sharp  words,  too,  that  he  had 
arranged  in  his  mind  seemed  too  brusque  now  to 
utter  to  a  weak,  lone  woman  who  was  so  evidently 
suffering. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  I  ought  to  talk  things 
over  with  you.  You've  got  nobody  else." 

"  No — not  a  soul !  I  couldn't  be  more  wholly 
alone  if  I  were  at  the  North  Pole,  it  has  seemed  to 


Johns  Delicate  Mission.  343 

me  this  last  day.  I  have  eaten  nothing ;  I  haven't 
slept  an  hour.  So  you  must  make  allowances  for 
me,"  she  said,  with  a  weak  shadow  of  a  smile,  "  if  I 
seem  nervous  or  incoherent.  My  mind  goes  all 
astray,  sometimes  now,  and  I  seem  unequal  to  the 
task  of  controlling  it." 

He  had  thought  at  last  of  a  question  which  might 
introduce  the  desired  subject  without  wounding  her 
feelings.  "Do  you  happen  to  know,"  he  asked, 
gently,  "  whether  Albert  brought  a  large  sum  of 
money  with  him  from  New  York  Monday  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  I  am  sure.  In  fact,  I 
only  saw  him  for  a  moment  after  his  return.  And 
besides,  you  know,  he  never  told  me  a  syllable  about 
his  business  arrangements.  No  one  could  be  in  more 
complete  ignorance  of  his  affairs  than  I  have  always 
been."  There  was  the  tone  of  resigned  regret  in 
her  voice  which  a  wife  might  rightly  use.  "  I  do 
indeed — there  is  one  exception — know  about  his 
will.  He  told  me  that,  not  by  way  of  confidence, 
but  because  it  came  out — in  some  words  we  once 
had  about  property  of  mine  in  New  York.  I  might  as 
well  tell  you.  The  will  gives  everything  except  my 
third  to  you  and  your  aunt  and — your  brother.  He 
has  the  lion's  share.  Don't  think  I  am  complain- 
ing, John.  I  wouldn't  have  had  it  altered  if  I 
could.  I  am  more  than  independent,  you  know, 
apart  from  right  of  dower.  If  I  had  had  the  making 
of  the  will,  it  would  have  been  just  the  same.  It 
is  only  right  that  his  money  should  go  to  his 
family." 


344  Scttis  Brothers   Wife. 

John  reflected  for  some  moments  before  he  an- 
swefed.  "  I  am  almost  sorry  you  told  me,"  he  said 
then.  "  It  makes  me  wretched  and  ashamed  to 
think  of  the  injustice  I  have  done  him  in  my  mind. 
It  sounds  brutal,  in  the  light  of  what  you  have  told 
me, — but  I  am  going  to  confess  it  to  you — I  suspected 
all  along  that  he  intended  to  come  some  game  over 

us  about  the  farm  ;  and  now,  instead .  Oh,  it's 

too  bad.  I  wish  he  could  hear  me ! "  John  con- 
tinued, with  a  glance  toward  the  folding  doors  of 
the  parlor,  once  more  the  chamber  of  death.  "  I 
wish  he  could  know  how  I  despise  myself  for  having 
wronged  him  in  my  mind." 

Isabel  said  nothing,  but  her  responsive  eyes 
seemed  to  express  appreciation  and  sympathy. 
John  lost  all  sense  of  wrath  toward  her  as  he  went 
on : 

"  Yes,  from  the  very  start  we  wronged  him.  We 
didn't  understand  him.  He  was  different  from  us- 
He  was  a  man  of  the  world,  and  we  were  country- 
men, and  we  thought  all  the  while  that  he  held 
himself  outside  the  family.  I  never  gave  him  credit 
for  good  motives  when  he  came  to  the  farm  ;  neither 
did  Seth.  We  both  thought  he  was  playing  his  own 
•  game,  for  himself,  and  nobody  else.  And  here,  by 
George  !  he  turns  out  to  have  had  more  brotherly 
feeling,  more  family  feeling,  than  we  ever  had.  It 
makes  me  miserable  to  think  of  it.  It'll  break 
Seth's  heart,  too  ;  he'll  always  torture  himself  with 
the  thought  that  the  last  time  he  ever  saw  Albert 
alive  they  parted  in  anger." 


Johns  Delicate  Mission.  345 

The  words  were  out  before  he  realized  their 
significance.  He  stopped  short,  and  felt  himself 
changing  color  as  he  looked  at  her  to  see  whether 
she  too  was  thinking  about  that  terrible  night. 

She  made  a  motion  as  if  to  rise  from  her  chair ; 
then  dropped  back  again  and  returned  his  inquiring 
glance  with  a  fixed,  intent  look. 

"  So  you  know  something  about  that"  she  said. 
"Did  Seth  tell  you?" 

"  Yes !  "  he  answered,  falteringly.  "  Seth  told 
me.  We  had  a  long  talk  this  forenoon.  I  think  he 
told  me  about  everything  there  was  to  tell.  In  fact, 
that  is  mostly  why  I've  come  back  now  to  see  you." 

She  was  silent,  but  her  eyes  seemed  to  John  to  be 
saying  disagreeable. things. 

He  began  again  to  realize  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
be  indignant  in  attitude  and  peremptory  in  tone, 
but  he  was  also  conscious  of  feeling  very  sorry  for 
Isabel.  The  village  editor  often  described  himself, 
and  was  uniformly  characterized  by  others,  as  being 
"  no  hand  for  women."  His  own  brief  career  as  a 
married  man — it  seemed  almost  a  dream  now,  and 
a  very  painful  dream,  with  a  short  period  of  great 
happiness,  then  a  slightly  longer  season  of  illness, 
poverty,  debt,  despair,  and  then  the  rayless  gloom  of 
death  in  his  scarcely  established  home — had  taught 
him  next  to  nothing  of  the  sex,  and  inclined  him 
against  learning  more.  The  impressions  of  woman- 
kind which  clustered  about  the  memories  of  his 
girl-wife  were,  however,  all  in  the  direction  of  gen- 
tleness and  softness.  As  he  reflected,  it  grew  in- 


346  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

creasingly  difficult  for  him  to  put  on  a  harsh  de- 
meanor toward  his  sister-in-law.  She  might  deserve 
it  well  enough,  but  it  was  not  in  his  heart  to  speak 
ugly  words  to  a  pretty  and  troubled  woman  at  such 
a  time.  He  stumbled  on : 

"  Yes,  the  youngster  is  fearfully  cut  up  about  the 
whole  thing,  and  he  had  to  talk  to  somebody.  He's 
always  been  used  to  telling  me  everything.  He  is 
not  a  tattler,  though,  and  I'm  bound  to  say  he  only 
told  me  because  I  questioned  him,  and  insisted  on 
his  making  a  clean  breast  of  it.  Then  I  sent  him 
down  to  the  office,  and  I  came  back  here,  thinking 
it  might  be  best  for  all  concerned  to  have  a  frank 
talk  with  you  about  it." 

She  had  a  course  mapped  out  now  in  her  mind. 
"  I  am  sure  that  your  motives  are  good,  John,"  she 
said,  "  and  that  you  will  be  fair  and  candid.  I  con- 
fess I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  be  gained,  specially, 
but  you  no  doubt  know  best.  What  is  it  you 
wanted  to  talk  over  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  isn't  easy  to  state  it,  off  hand.  Perhaps 
I  might  as  well  begin  by  speaking  of  motives,  as 
you  did.  I  own  that  when  I  came  in  I  wasn't  so 
sure  that  your  motives  were  good,  as  you  say  you 
are  about  mine." 

"  That  is  candid,  at  all  events." 

"  I  want  to  be  perfectly  open  and  above-board 
with  you,  Isabel.  You  seem  to  have  got  into  your 
head  yesterday — I  won't  say  you  have  it  now — some 
horrible  and  ridiculously  wild  suspicion  of  Seth " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  interposed,  with 


Johns  Delicste  Mission.  347 

nervous  haste.  "  You  mustn't  think  of  that  at  all ! 
You  mustn't  blame  me  for  it !  I  was  simply  dis- 
tracted— mad — out  of  my  senses.  I  don't  know 
what  awful  thing  my  fancy  didn't  conjure  up. 
Don't  pay  any  attention  to  that ! " 

"  But  the  mischief  of  it  is  that  you  seem  to  have 
spoken  of  this  to — to  somebody  else.  It  would 
have  been  unimportant  otherwise.  This  complicates 
it  badly.  Don't  you  see  it  does  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  and  kept  her  eyes  on  the 
figures  in  the  carpet. 

"  Don't  you  see  it  does  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  spoke  of  it  to  any- 
body?" she  asked,  after  a  pause,  and  still  with 
downcast  eyes. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  Isabel.  It's 
true,  isn't  it,  that  you  did  speak  of  it  ?  " 

To  his  surprise  and  embarrassment  she  began 
weeping,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief.  He 
sat  mutely  watching  her,  wishing  that  she  would 
stop,  and  perplexed  at  encountering  on  the  very 
threshold  of  his  inquiries  and  argument  this  un- 
meetable  demonstration  of  a  woman's  resources. 

She  presently  sobbed  out,  from  behind  the  per- 
fumed cambric :  "  You  cant  hold  me  accountable 
for  what  I  did  yesterday,  or  what  I  said  !  I  was 
beside  myself!  I  scarcely  know  what  I  thought, 
or  what  I  said !  I  acted  like  a  crazy  woman — and 
felt  like  one,  too !  It  is  easy  enough  for  you  to  be 
cool  and  collected  about  the  thing.  You  are  a  man  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Isabel,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  I  under- 


348  Set/is  Brothers   Wife. 

stand  all  that,  and  I  can  make  all  the  allowances  in 
the  world  for  you,  in  your  position.  But  still  that 
doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  the  thing  has  been  said, 
and  the  harm  done.  To  be  sure,  I  suppose,  the 
harm  will  be  only  temporary,  but  as  it  stands  it 
affects  the  prospects  of  more  than  one  person — of 
two  persons,  in  fact,  near  to  us — very  materially. 
You  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  what  can  be  done  to  remedy  it  ?  That  is 
the  question.  I  am  not  going  to  blame  you,  but 
still  the  fault  was  yours,  and  the  steps  to  set  it 
right  ought  to  be  yours,  too,  oughtn't  they  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  She  looked  up  now,  for- 
getting her  tears. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  what  I  do  mean.  I  haven't 
thought  over  details.  There  is  simply  a  given  situa- 
tion, with  the  question  how  to  get  out  of  it,  and 
the  onus  of  action  on  you.  I  want  you  to  help  me 
think  what  the  best  way  will  be." 

"  How  logically  you  state  it !  Suppose  I  dis- 
avowed the  whole  thing,  ignored  it,  refused  to  do 
anything  or  say  anything.  What  then? " 

"  I  won't  consider  that  at  all.  You  couldn't  be 
so  unfair  as  that — so  ungenerous." 

"  Unfair!  Ungenerous  !  "  Isabel  rose  to  her  full 
height,  and  frowned  down  at  her  brother-in-law, 
without  a  trace  of  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Fine  fair- 
ness, distinguished  generosity,  have  been  shown  to 
me,  haven't  they !  There  has  been  so  much  delicacy 
in  regarding  my  feelings!  I  ought  to  leap  at  the 


Johns  Delicate  Mission.  349 

opportunity  of  smoothing  over  matters  between 
Mr.  Seth  and  his  lady-love.  My  husband's  awful 
death,  my  position  here,  alone  in  the  world,  the 
shock  and  suffering  of  it  all — these  are  mere  trifles 
compared  with  the  importance  of  seeing  that  their 
love  affairs  are  uninterrupted !  Perhaps  I  might 
get  a  chance  at  the  funeral  to  have  them  kiss  and 
make  up — or  would  you  prefer  me  to  leave  my  dead 
now  and  go " 

"  Your  dead ! " 

The  brother  had  risen  also,  and  taken  his  hat. 
The  exclamation  carried  in  its  tone  all  the  bitterness 
with  which  his  mind  had  stored  itself  on  his  walk 
back  to  the  farm.  Pity  for  the  woman,  perhaps 
something  too  of  innate  susceptibility  to  beauty  and 
grace,  had  restrained  and  covered  up  this  bitterness, 
so  that  he  had  supposed  it  gone.  It  flamed  forth 
now,  in  wrathful  satire. 

As  she  put  her  handkerchief  up  again  to  her  eyes, 
as  a  token  of  more  tears,  he  went  on,  in  a  cold  kind 
of  excitement : 

"  You  talk  very  cleverly — more  so  than  any  other 
woman  I  ever  knew.  But  you  should  pick  your 
strong  phrases  with  more  discrimination.  For  in- 
stance, when  you  want  to  produce  a  really  striking 
effect  upon  me,  it  is  unwise  to  use  an  expression 
which  recalls  to  me  at  once  things  that  you  would 
rather  I  didn't  think  about.  I  wouldn't  say  '  my 
dead  '  if  I  were  you,  especially  when  you  are  talking 
to  his  brother.  It  may  do  for  outsiders,  but  here 
in  the  family  it  is  a  bad  waste  of  words." 


350  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

Her  only  answer  was  a  gust  of  sobs.  They  failed 
to  move  him  and  he  went  on : 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any  means  of  forcing 
you  to  do  anything,  or  say  anything,  against  your 
will.  If  you  take  that  position,  perhaps  it  won't  be 
necessary.  The  wicked,  ridiculous  thing  you  thought, 
or  pretended  to  think,  and  said  to  that  poor  girl, 
can  be  straightened  out  very  easily.  We  can't  pre- 
vent the  pain  it  has  already  caused,  but  we  can  stop 
its  causing  more.  But  if  you  lisp  it  to  another 
human  being — well,  I  don't  know  what  to  threaten 
you  with.  It  isn't  easy  to  guess  what  considerations 
will  weigh  with  a  woman  who  has  your  ideas  of 
wifely  duty,  and  of  her  responsibilities  towards 
young  and  foolish  members  of  her  husband's  family, 
and " 

"  How  can  you  be  so  cruel,  so  mean,  John  ?  What 
right  have  you  to  talk  to  me  like  that  ?  Everybody 
attacks  me  like  an  enemy.  You  never  have  been 
decent  to  me  since  I  was  married.  Your  whole 
family  has  treated  me  like  an  outsider,  almost  a 
criminal,  since  I  came  here.  Your  old  cat  of  an 
aunt  never  looked  at  me  except  to  wish  me  evil. 
Your  brother — yes,  if  he  could  hear  me  now,  from 
where  he  lies,  I  would  say  it ! — never  was  fond  of 
me,  never  tried  to  make  a  companion  of  me,  never 
treated  me  as  a  wife  should  be  treated,  or  even  as  his 
intellectual  equal.  You  avoided  me  as  if  I  were 
poison.  The  neighborhood  disliked  me,  gossiped 
about  me,  and  I  hated  them.  Only  one  there  was 
of  you  all  who  was  pleasant  with  me,  and  good  to 


Johns  Delicate  Mission.  351 

me — and  now  that  you  have  turned  him  against  me, 
too,  you  come  and  insult  me  because  I  was  pleased 
and  grateful  for  his  friendship.  That  is  manly,  isn't 
it?" 

John  had  listened  to  the  beginning  of  this  im- 
passioned speech  with  a  callous  heart.  But  he  was 
a  just  man,  and  he  had  in  almost  unmeted  degree 
that  habit  of  mind  which  welcomes  statements  of 
both  sides  of  a  controversy.  He  might  have  been  a 
wealthier  man,  and  the  owner  of  a  more  thriving 
paper,  if  he  had  had  more  of  the  partisan  spirit. 
But  to  be  strictly  fair  was  the  rule  of  his  being.  He 
would  not  criticise  political  opponents  for  doing 
things  which  in  his  heart  he  approved,  and,  on  the 
same  principle  he  would  not  condemn  unheard  even 
this  woman,  if  she  had  any  justification.  As  she 
went  on,  he  began  to  feel  that  there  was  considerable 
force  in  her  argument.  She  certainly  had  been  most 
disagreeably  situated,  connubially  and  socially,  and 
her  definition  of  the  Seth  episode  was  plausible,  if 
that  were  all  there  was  of  it.  He  softened  percep- 
tibly in  tone  as  he  answered  : 

"  No,  I  am  sorry  if  you  think  I  wanted  to  insult 
you.  Perhaps  I  did  speak  too  strongly.  I  apologize 
for  it.  But  I  feel  very  earnestly  on  this  subject. 
I've  always  been  a  sort  of  father  and  big  brother 
combined  to  Seth,  and  the  idea  of  his  getting  into  a 
mess,  or  doing  foolish  or  discreditable  things,  cuts 
me  to  the  quick.  You  can  see  my  position  in  the 
matter.  I  am  anxious  not  to  hurt  your  feelings, 
but  my  first  duty  is  to  him.  Perhaps  the  two  need 


352  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

not  come  into  conflict.  After  all,  no  real  harm  has 
been  done,  I  fancy,  except  in  this  one  case  of  repeat- 
ing your  hysterical  suspicion  of  him.  That  was  in- 
excusable ;  can't  you  see  that  it  was  ?  I'm  sure  that 
if  you'll  think  it  over  calmly,  you'll  be  disposed  to 
do  what  is  fair  and  right.  I'm  not  blaming  you 
particularly  for  the  other  thing.  You  might  have 
remembered  that  you  were  older  than  Seth,  to  be 
sure,  but  then  I  realize  that  you  were  not  at  all 
pleasantly  placed 

"  Never  mind  what  you  realize  !  We  won't  dis- 
cuss that  at  all.  There  is  nothing  to  discuss.  You 
and  your  aunt  seem  bound  to  make  yourselves 
ridiculous  about  me.  I  won't  demean  myself  by 
answering — or  no  !  I  will  say  this  much  to  you. 
There  has  never  a  word  passed  between  Seth  and 
me  that  every  soul  of  you  might  not  have  heard, 
and  welcome.  He  was  simply  pleasant  and  friendly 
to  me — and  I  was  grateful  to  him  and  fond  of  him, 
as  I  might  be  of  a  brother.  Where  was  the  harm  ? 
In  no  decent  state  of  society  would  any  one  ever 
have  dreamed  of  suspecting  wrong.  But  here — why, 
people  live  and  breathe  suspicion  !  It  is  the  breath 
of  their  nostrils." 

"  I  thought  you  used  to  correspond,"  John  said, 
tentatively. 

"  Correspond  !  There  it  is  again  !  What  of  it,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  Why  shouldn't  my  cousin, 
my  brother,  write  to  me  ?  I  have  all  the  letters  ; — 
you  may  see  them  every  one.  They  gave  me  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure.  They  represented  my  sole  point 


Johns  Delicate  Mission.  353 

of  contact  with  civilization,  with  fine  feelings  and 
pretty  thoughts.  But  you  can  go  over  them  all,  if 
you  like.  You  won't  find  a  single  whisper  of  proof 
of  your  aunt's  mean  suspicion.  I  am  almost  ashamed 
of  myself  for  having  stooped  to  defend  myself — but 
it  is  just  as  well  to  let  you  know  the  truth." 

"  Yes ! "  John  breathed  a  sigh  which  was  not 
altogether  of  relief,  but  carried  a  fair  admixture  of 
bewilderment.  This  ingenious  explanation  did  not 
at  all  points  tally  with  the  inferences  drawn  from 
Seth's  confession.  Perhaps  it  was  true  enough  in 
the  letter,  but  he  felt  that  as  a  revelation  of  the 
spirit  it  left  much  to  be  desired.  He  added  : 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  if  I  misjudged  you.  Probably 
I  did.  However,  even  if  Seth  had  come  near  get- 
ting into  a  scrape,  he's  safe  out  of  it  now." 

This  complaisant  conclusion  nettled  the  woman. 
She  went  on,  as  if  her  explanation  had  not  been  in- 
terrupted : 

"  Of  course,  we  had  what  you  might  call  a  com- 
munity of  grievance  to  talk  about,  and  draw  us  to- 
gether. It  wouldn't  be  fitting  in  me  to  say  more 
now  than  that  my  life  here  was  not  congenial :  you 
won't  mind  my  saying  that  much  ?  I  had  dreamed 
of  a  very  different  kind  of  married  existence.  Seth, 
too,  had  his  trouble.  In  his  boyhood,  when  it 
seemed  assured  that  he  was  to  remain  the  farmer  of 
the  family,  his  mother  had  planned  a  marriage  for 
him.  It  isn't  for  me  to  say  a  word  against  Annie. 
She  is  a  good  enough  girl  in  her  way.  But  when 
Seth  got  out  of  his  chrysalis,  and  learned  what  there 
23 


354  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

really  was  in  him,  the  thought  that  he  was  com- 
mitted in  a  sense  to  marrying  a  farm  girl  made  him 
very  gloomy.  He  used  to  talk  with  me  about  it,  not 
saying  anything  against  Annie,  mind  you,  but " 

"  That'll  do !"  said  John,  curtly.  "  We  won't  go 
into  that.  Evidently  there  was  no  limit  to  Seth's 
asininity.  Let  that  pass.  Whatever  he  said,  or 
didn't  say,  during  his  vealy  period,  he's  going  to 
marry  Annie  now.  There  never  was  a  time,  and  I 
fear  there  never  will  be  one,  when  I  would  not  call 
her  his  superior.  The  question  is  :  Are  you  going 
to  retract  before  her  the  false,  cruel  things  you  have 
said?" 

"  I  am  going  upstairs  again,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
I  will  lie  down  awhile,"  and  moved  towards  the 
stair-door. 

The  brother  looked  at  her,  amazed,  pained,  indig- 
nant. She  had  her  hand  on  the  latch  by  the  time 
his  emotions  found  words : 

"  I've  wasted  my  time  in  pitying  you.  God  for- 
bid that  any  of  our  family,  young  or  old,  should 
ever  fall  in  with  such  a  woman  as  you  are  again  !  " 

He  pulled  on  his  hat  and  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
MILTON'S  ASPIRATIONS. 

THE  lamps  were  lighted  in  the  little  partitioned- 
off  square  which  served  as  the  editorial  room  of  the 
Banner  when  John  returned.  He  found  Seth  weak- 
ly striving  to  write  something  for  the  editorial  page, 
and  in  substance  laid  the  situation  before  him.  He 
was  not  feeling  very  amiably  toward  his  young 
brother  at  the  moment,  and  he  spoke  with  cold  dis- 
tinctness. The  tone  was  lost  upon  Seth,  who  said 
wearily : 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  makes  much  difference — her 
refusing.  What  good  would  it  have  done,  if  she 
had  gone  to  Annie  ?  She  could  only  tell  her  that 
she  had  abandoned  such  and  such  ideas.  That  isn't 
what  counts.  The  fact  of  importance  is  that  she 
ever  entertained  them,  that  they  ever  existed.  To 
my  notion,  there's  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  and 
see  what  comes  of  Beekman's  suspicions.  What 
do  you  think  of  them,  anyway  ?  I  have  been  trying 
to  imagine  what  he  is  aiming  at,  but  it  puzzles  me  ? 
What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  haven't  been  thinking  of 
that.  My  mind  has  been  occupied  with  the  female 
aspects  of  the  thing.  I'm  not  impatient.  Evidently 


356  Set  Its  Brothers   Wife. 

Beekman  and  Arisdell  think  they  have  got  hold  of 
something.  They  are  not  the  men  to  go  off  on  a 
wild-goose  chase.  Very  good :  I  can  wait  until 
they  are  ready  to  explain.  But  what  I  can't  wait 
for — or  bear  to  think  about — is  poor  Annie,  suffer- 
ing as  she  must  be  suffering  to  have  written  that 
letter." 

"Yes,  I've  thought  of  that,  too,  but  I'm  help- 
less. I  can't  think  of  anything:  I  can't  do  any- 
thing." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  of  much  use,  for  a  fact," 
mused  the  brother.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  if 
you  think  best.  To-morrow  afternoon,  after  I've 
seen  Ansdell,  or  before  that  if  he  doesn't  come,  I 
will  go  over  and  see  Annie  myself.  I  can  go  over 
to  the  school-house  by  the  back  road,  and  walk 
home  with  her.  Perhaps  by  that  time,  too,  I  shall 
have  something  tangible  to  explain  to  her.  Until 
then,  I  suppose  she  must  continue  in  suspense.  It 
is  the  penance  she  ought  to  do,  I  dare  say — "  the 
brother  added  this  in  mildly  sarcastic  rebuke — "  for 
the  luxury  of  being  in  love  with  such  a  transcend- 
ant  genius  as  you  are." 

Something  like  an  hour  before  this,  Annie  had 
dismissed  her  classes  and  locked  up  the  school-house 
for  the  night.  As  she  did  so,  she  mentally  wondered 
if  she  should  ever  have  the  strength  to  walk  home. 

The  day  had  been  one  long-drawn  out  torture 
from  its  first  waking  moments — indeed  there  seemed 
to  have  been  nothing  but  anguish  since  her  in- 


Milton 's  Aspirations.  357 

terview  with  Isabel  the  previous  day,  not  even  the 
oblivion  of  sleep.  Her  impulse,  and  her  grand- 
mother's advice,  had  been  to  remain  at  home ;  but 
she  had  already  left  the  school  unopened  on  the 
fatal  Tuesday,  in  the  shock  of  the  news  of  Albert's 
death :  to  absent  herself  a  second  day  might  preju- 
dice the  trustees  against  her.  Besides,  the  occupa- 
tion might  serve  to  divert  her  thoughts. 

Perhaps  the  trustees  were  satisfied,  she  said  to 
herself  now,  locking  the  door,  but  there  certainly 
had  been  no  relief  in  the  day's  labor.  The  little 
children  had  been  unwontedly  stupid  and  trying; 
the  older  boys,  some  of  them  almost  of  her  own 
age,  had  never  before  seemed  so  unruly  and  loutishly 
impertinent.  Even  these  experiences  alone  would 
have  availed  to  discourage  her ;  as  it  was  they  added 
the  stinging  of  insects  to  her  great  heartache.  With 
some  organizations,  the  lesser  pain  nullifies  the 
other.  She  seemed  to  have  a  capacity  for  suffering, 
now,  which  took  in,  and  made  the  most  of,  every 
element  of  agony,  great  and  small.  She  turned 
from  the  rusty,  squat  little  old  building  and  began 
her  journey  homeward,  with  hanging  head  and  a 
deadly  sense  of  weakness,  physical  and  spiritual, 
crushing  her  whole  being. 

Milton  Squires  had  been  watching  for  her  appear- 
ance for  some  time,  from  a  sheltering  ridge  of  berry- 
bushes  and  wall  beyond  the  school,  and  he  hurried 
now  to  overtake  her,  clumsily  professing  surprise  at 
the  meeting. 

"  I  jes  happened  up  this  way,"  he  said,  "  Dunnao 


358  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

when  I  be'n  up  here  on  this  road  b'fore.  Never 
dreampt  o'  seein'  yeou." 

She  made  answer  of  some  sort,  as  unintelligible 
and  meaningless  to  herself  as  to  him.  She  did  not 
know  whether  it  was  a  relief  or  otherwise  that  he 
was  evidently  going  to  walk  home  with  her.  Per- 
haps, if  she  let  him  do  all  the  talking,  the  compan- 
ionship would  help  her  to  get  over  the  ordeal  of 
the  return  less  miserably.  But  she  could  not,  and 
she  would  not,  talk. 

"  I  kind  o'  thought  mebbe  you'd  shet  up  schewl 
fer  a  week  'r  sao,"  he  proceeded,  ingratiatingly, 
"  but  then  agin  I  said  to  m'self  '  no  siree,  she  ain't 
thet  kine  of  a  gal.  Ef  she's  got  any  work  to  dew, 
she  jes'  does  it,  rain  'r  shine'.  Thet's  what  I  said. 
Pooty  bad  business,  wa'n't  it,  this  death  of  yer 
cousin?" 

"  Dreadful ! "  she  murmured,  wishing  he  would  talk 
of  something  else. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it's  about's  bad's  they  make  'em.  Some 
queer  things  'baout  it  tew.  I  s'pose  yeh  ain't  heerd 
no  gossup  'baout  it,  hev  yeh?" 

"  No,"  she  whispered  with  a  sinking  heart ;  a  real 
effort  was  needed  to  speak  the  other  words :  "  What 
gossip  ?  Is  there  gossip  ?  " 

"  Dunnao's  yeh  kin  call  it  real  gossup.  P'raps  no- 
buddy  else  won't  'spicion  nothin'.  But  to  me  they's 
some  things  'baout  it  thet  looks  darned  cur'ous.  Of 
caourse,  it  ain't  none  o'  my  business  to  blab  'baout 
the  thing." 

"  No,  of  course." 


Miltoris  Aspirations.  359 

These  little  words,  spoken  falteringly,  confirmed 
all  that  Milton  had  wished  to  learn  the  truth  about. 
Over  night  a  stupendous  scheme  had  budded,  un- 
folded, blossomed  in  his  mind.  Originally  his  pri- 
mitive intellect  had  gone  no  further  than  the  simple 
idea  of  committing  homicide  under  circumstances 
which  would  inevitably  point  to  an  accident.  The 
plan  was  clever  in  its  very  nakedness.  But  through 
some  row  among  the  women,  probably  out  of  jeal- 
ousy, the  hint  of  murder  had  been  raised,  and 
coupled  with  Seth's  name.  If  this  hint  ripened  into 
a  suspicion  and  an  inquiry,  a  new  situation  would 
be  created,  but  Milton  could  not  see  any  peril  in  it 
for  him,  for  Seth  would  obviously  be  involved. 
But  it  would  be  better  if  no  questions  of  murder 
were  raised  at  all,  and  matters  were  allowed  to  stand. 
This  would  not  only  place  Milton's  security  beyond 
peradventure,  but  it  would  give  him  a  tremendous 
grip  upon  Annie.  It  was  in  this  direction  that  his 
mind  had  been  working  steadily  since  he  heard  of 
Annie's  suspicions.  The  opportunity  seemed  to 
have  come  for  placing  the  cap-stone  of  acquisition 
upon  the  edifice  of  desire  he  had  so  long  and  pa- 
tiently been  rearing. 

As  for  the  poor  girl,  she  had  reasoned  herself 
out  of  the  suspicion  of  Seth's  guilt  a  thousand 
times,  only  to  find  herself  hopelessly  relapsing 
into  the  quagmire.  Milton's  hints  came  with  cruel 
force  to  drag  her  back  now,  this  time  lower  than 
ever.  Even  he  seemed  to  know  of  it,  but  he  pro- 
posed to  maintain  silence.  Of  course,  he  must  be 


360  Settf s  Brothers   Wife. 

induced  to  keep  silent.  Oh!  the  agony  of  her 
thoughts ! 

"You'n'  Seth  was  allus  kine  o'  frenly,"  he  pro- 
ceeded. "  Way  back  f  m  th'  time  yeh  was  boys  'n' 
gals." 

"  Yes,  we  always  were." 

"  'N'  they  used  to  say,  daown  to  th'  corners,  that 
yeou  two  was  baoun'  to  make  a  match  of  it." 

"  There  wasn't  anything  in  that  at  all ! "  She 
spoke  decisively,  almost  peremptorily. 

"  Oh,  they  wa'n't,  ay  ?  "  There  was  evident  jubi- 
lation in  his  tone.  "  Never  was  nothin'  in  that  talk, 
ay?" 

"  No,  nothing." 

The  pair  walked  along  on  the  side  of  the  descend- 
ing road  silently  for  some  moments.  A  farmer 
passed  them,  hauling  a  load  of  pumpkins  up  the 
hill,  and  exchanged  a  nod  of  salutation  with  Milton. 
This  farmer  remarked  at  his  supper-table  an  hour 
later,  to  his  wife :  "I'd  bet  a  yoke  o'  oxen  thet  Mil- 
ton Squires  is  a'makin'  up  to  the  schewl-teacher.  I 
seed  'em  walkin'  togither  daown  th'  hill  to-night,  'n' 
he  was  a  lookin'  at  her  like  a  bear  at  a  sap-trough. 
It  fairly  made  me  grit  my  teeth  to  see  him,  with 
his  broadcloth  cloze,  'n'  his  watch-chain,  'n'  his  on- 
gainly  ways."  To  which  his  helpmeet  acidulously 
responded:  "Well,  I  dunnao's  she  c'd  dew  much 
better.  She's  gittin'  pooty  well  along,  'n'  fer  all  his 
ongainly  ways,  I  don't  see  but  what  he  comes  on, 
'baout's  well's  some  o'  them  thet  runs  him  daown. 
A  gal  can't  jedge  much  by  a  man's  ways  haow  he'll 


Milton's  Aspirations.  361 

turn  aout  afterwards.  /  thought  Pd  got  a  prize." 
Whereupon  the  honest  yeoman  chose  silence  as  the 
better  part. 

The  red  sun  was  hanging  in  a  purplish  haze  over 
the  edge  of  the  hill  as  the  two  descended,  and  the 
leaves  from  Farmer  Perkins's  maples  rustled  softly 
under  their  feet.  Milton  drew  near  his  subject : 

"  I've  be'n  gittin'  on  in  th'  world  sence  yeou  fust 
knew  me,  hain't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  everybody  says  so." 

"  'N'  yit  everybody  don't  knaow  half  of  it.  I  ain't 
no  han'  to  tell  all  I  knaow.  Ef  some  folks  c'd  guess 
th'  speckle-ations  I  be'n  in,  'n'  th'  cash  I've  got  aout 
in  mor'giges  'n'  sao  on,  it'd  make  'em  open  their 
eyes.  It's  th'  still  saow  thet  gits  th'  swill,  as  my 
mother  use'  to  say,  'n'  I've  be'n  still  enough  abaout 
it,  I  guess." 

His  coarse  chuckle  jarred  on  the  girl's  nerves,  but 
the  importance  of  placating  him  was  uppermost  in 
her  mind,  and  she  answered,  as  pleasantly  as  she 
could  : 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  glad,  Milton.  You  have  worked 
hard  all  your  life,  and  you  deserve  it." 

"  Yeh  air  glad,  reely  naow  ?  " 

"  Why  yes  !  Why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  It  always 
pleases  me  to  hear  of  people's  prosperity." 

"  But  me  purtic'ly  ?  "  he  persisted,  earnestly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  absent-mindedly.  Then 
the  odd  nature  of  the  question  occurred  to  her,  but 
she  was  too  distrait  to  think  consecutively,  and  she 
added  no  comment  to  her  answer. 


362  Set /is  Brothers   Wife. 

"  Well,  it  eases  me  to  hear  yeh  say  thet,"  he  went 
on,  with  awkward  deliberation,  "  fer  they's  some- 
thin'  I've  be'n  wantin'  to  say  to  yeh  fer  a  long  time. 
I  don't  s'paose  you  reelize  haow  well  off  I  am  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  mind  seemed  to  refuse 
to  act,  and  she  heard  only  the  sound  of  his  words. 
He  took  her  reply  for  granted  and  continued  : 

"  I  c'd  eena'most  buy  up  thet  farm  there  " — point- 
ing over  to  the  Fairchild  acres  on  the  slope,  now 
within  sight — "  'n'  I  ain't  so  all-fired  sure  yit  thet  I 
won't,  nuther  !  But  what's  th'  good  o'  money,  on- 
less  yeh  kin  git  what  yeh  want  with  it,  ay  ?  " 

The  impulse  of  her  soul-weariness  was  to  let  this 
aimless  question  pass  like  the  other,  without  reply. 
But  she  was  reminded  of  the  importance  of  being 
pleasant  to  this  tedious  man,  and  so  answered,  en- 
tirely at  random  : 

"  What  is  it  you  want,  Milton  ?  " 

"  I  dunnao — I'm  kind  o'  feared  o'  puttin'  my  foot 
in  it ;  yeh  won't  be  mad  ef  I  tell  yeh  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  of  course  not.     What  is  it  ?" 

"  Well,  then,"  he  blurted  out,  "  I  want  yeou  /  " 

The  girl  looked  dumbly  at  him,  at  first  not  realiz- 
ing at  all  the  meaning  of  his  words,  then  held  as  in  a 
vise  between  the  disposition  to  reply  to  him  as  he 
deserved  and  the  danger,  the  terrible  danger,  of  an- 
gering him.  There  fluttered  through  her  senses, 
too,  a  mad  kind  of  yearning  to  shriek  with  laugh- 
ter— born  of  the  hysterical  state  of  her  long- 
oppressed  nerves.  She  eventually  neither  rebuked 
nor  laughed,  but  said  vacuously  : 


Milton  s  Aspirations.  363 

"  Want  me  ?  " 

"  Ef  yeou'll  marry  me,  I'll  make  one  o'  th'  fust 
ladies  o'  Dearb'rn  Caounty  aout  o'  yeh.  Yeh  need 
never  lay  yer  finger  to  a  stitch  o'  work  agin,  no 
more'n  Is'bel  did,  daown  yander."  He  spoke  eag- 
erly, with  more  emotion  in  his  strident  voice  than 
she  had  ever  heard  there  before. 

The  difficulty  of  her  position  crushed  her  courage. 
Of  course  she  must  say  no,  but  how  do  it  without 
affronting  him  ?  The  idea  of  reasoning  him  gently 
out  of  the  preposterous  wish  came  to  her. 

"  This  is  some  flying  notion  in  your  head,  Mil- 
ton," she  said,  civilly.  "  You  will  have  forgotten  it 
by  next  week." 

"  Forgott'n  it,  ay !  Yeh  think  sao  ?  What'f  I 
told  yeh  I  hain't  thought  o'  nothin'  else  fur  nigh 
onto  ten  year  ?  " 

His  tone  was  too  earnest  and  excited  to  render 
further  trifling  safe.  He  pulled  out  of  an  inner 
pocket  and  held  up  before  her  a  little,  irregularly 
squared  tin-type — which  she  recognized  as  having 
been  made  in  whimsical  burlesque  of  her  lineaments 
by  an  itinerant  photographer  years  before. 

"  How  did  you  come  by  that  ?  "  she  asked,  to  gain 
time. 

"  I  got  it  fr'm  th'  man  thet  made  it,  'n'  I  paid  a 
dollar  bill  fer  it,  tew,"  he  answered  triumphantly, 
"  'n'  I've  kep  it  by  me  ever  sence  !  " 

After  a  pause  she  said,  as  calmly  as  she  could :  "  I 
never  dreamed  that  such  a  thought  had  entered 
your  head.  Of  course,  it — it  can't  be." 


364  Seth's  Brothers    Wife. 

"Why  not,  I'd  like  to  knaow?"  he  demanded. 
"  Don't  yeh  b'lieve  what  I've  told  yeh  'baout  my 
bein'  well  off?" 

"  That  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  it.  There  are 
other  reasons — a  good  many  other  reasons." 

"  What  air  they  ?  "     His  tone  was  peremptory. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  explain  them  to  you. 
But  truly  there  are  so  many  of  them — and  your 
words  took  me  so  wholly  by  surprise,  that — that •" 

"  Yeh  needn't  mince  matters  !  I  knaow  !  Yeh 
hev  sot  yer  idees  on  Seth  !  Yeh  needn't  tell  me 
yeh  hain't !  " 

"  I  won't  talk  with  you  at  all  if  you  shout  at  me 
in  that  way,  and  contradict  me  flat  when  I  assure  you 
to  the  contrary." 

Milton  paused  for  a  moment,  to  consider  the  situ- 
ation. They  were  approaching  the  poplars  now, 
along  the  lonely  turnpike,  and  the  conversation 
could  not  be  much  protracted.  What  he  had  to  say 
must  be  said  without  delay.  But  what  was  it  that 
he  wished  to  say  ?  A  dozen  inchoate  plans  rose 
amorphously  to  the  surface  of  his  mind — to  cajole 
her,  to  strive  further  to  impress  her  with  his  wealth, 
to  entreat  her,  to  attempt  to  bully  her.  This  last 
resource  ran  best  with  his  mood,  but  there  were 
difficulties.  Annie  was  the  reverse  of  a  cowardly 
girl ;  there  was  nothing  timid  or  tremulous  about 
her ;  if  he  attempted  to  intimidate  her,  the  enter- 
prise would  most  probably  be  a  ridiculous  failure,  for 
he  stood  too  much  in  awe  of  her  self-reliance  and 
intelligence  to  have  confidence  in  his  own  mastery. 


Milton 's  Aspirations.  365 

But  stay — she  was  fearful  about  Seth.  Whether  it 
was  true  or  not  that  she  had  no  idea  of  marrying 
her  cousin,  she  was  evidently  solicitous  for  his  safety. 
An  idea  born  of  this  conclusion  swiftly  engrafted 
itself  upon  the  hired  man's  general  strategy.  He 
lifted  his  light,  shifty  eyes  from  the  grass  of  the 
roadside  path  to  her  face,  once  more,  and  said  : 

"  Well,  ef  you're  a  mine  to  be  mean,  I  kin  be 
mean  tew — meaner  'n'  pussly.  Ef  yeh  think  I'm 
goin'  to  stan'  still,  'n'  let  yeou  'n'  Seth  hev  it  all  yer 
aown  way,  yer  mistaken.  I've  only  got  to  open  my 
maouth  to  th'  Cor'ner,  'n'  whair'd  he  be,  'n'  yeou 
tew  ?  " 

There  was  a  certain  indefinable  suggestion  of 
bravado  in  his  tone  which  caught  Annie's  attention. 
It  was  the  barest,  most  meagre  of  shadows,  but  she 
grasped  at  the  chance  of  substance  behind  it. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could  say  anything,  or  do  any- 
thing, which  would  injure  him,"  she  said,  with  more 
confidence  in  her  words  than  she  felt  in  her  heart. 

"  Oh,  yeh  daon't,  ay  ! "  he  growled.  "  Ef  yeh 
knaowed  what  I  knaow,  p'raps  yeh'd  change  yer 
teune." 

"  What  do  you  know,  then  ?  Come  now,  let  us 
hear  it ! "  She  grew  defiant,  with  an  instinctive 
sense  that  the  inferior  being  beside  her  was  ready  to 
retreat,  if  only  she  could  keep  up  her  boldness  of 
front. 

"  Never  yeou  mind  what  I  knaow  !  "  he  answered, 
evasively.  "  It'll  be  enough,  I  guess,  to  cook  his 
geuse,  when  th'  time  comes." 


366  SetA's  Brother's   Wife. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  were 
simply  talking  to  hear  yourself  talk — to  scare  me. 
Well,  you  see  now  that  you  wasted  your  breath." 

"Oh,  did  I !  Well,  I  won't  waste  any  more  of  it, 
then,  till  I  talk  to  th'  Cor'ner.  I  kin  tell  him  some 
things  'baout  who  rid  th'  black  mare  aout  thct 
night,  after  Albert'd  gone.  Guess  thet'll  kind  V 
fix  things ! " 

His  slow  imagination,  working  clumsily  in  the 
mazes  of  falsehood,  had  carried  Milton  a  step  too 
far  ;  his  simple  plan  of  substituting  Seth  for  himself 
in  the  events  of  the  fatal  night  miscarried  in  a  way 
he  could  not  suspect. 

Annie  did  not  answer.  An  exclamation  had  risen 
to  her  lips,  but  something  akin  to  presence  of  mind 
checked  it  there.  Her  brain  seemed  to  be  working 
with  lightning  flashes.  The  black  mare  had  played 
a  part  in  the  tragedy,  then  ;  Seth  had  certainly  not 
had  the  animal  out  that  evening  ;  the  rushing,  al- 
most noiseless  apparition  which  had  startled  them 
in  the  moonlight  must  have  been  the  mare  ;  it  was 
coming  from  the  direction  of  Tallman's ;  it  had  a 
rider ;  who  could  that  rider  have  been  ?  and  how 
did  Milton  know  about  it  ? — so  the  swift  thoughts 
ran,  in  a  chain  which  seemed  luminous  in  the  relief 
it  brought  to  her.  These  two  questions  she  could 
not  answer — in  her  joy  at  the  apparent  exculpation 
of  Seth  it  did  not  seem  specially  important  that 
they  should  be  answered — and  she  had  self-posses- 
sion enough  to  ask  nothing  about  them. 

It  was  a  nice  question  what  she  should  say  to  her 


Milton  s  Aspirations.  367 

companion,  who  was  now,  without  any  distinct  sus- 
picions on  her  part,  growing  luridly  loathsome  and 
repugnant  in  her  eyes.  The  fear  of  angering  him 
had  died  away,  but  a  vague  sense  that  mischief 
might  be  done  by  arousing  his  curiosity  or  appre- 
hensions had  come  to  take  its  place.  She  spoke 
cautiously  : 

"  I  hope  you  won't  do  anything  rash,  that  you 
would  regret  afterwards." 

"  They  ain't  nao  need  o'my  doin'  nothin',  ef  yeou'd 
only  hev  some  sense.  But  if  yeou're  goin'  to  be 
agin  me,  ther's  nao  tellin'  what  I  won't  dew,"  he 
answered  with  sullen  terseness. 

They  had  come  to  the  poplars,  and  Annie  stopped 
at  the  stile  under  the  thorns. 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  here,"  she  said. 

"  Then  yeh  won't  hev  me,  ay  ?  Yeh  better  think 
twice  'fore  yeh  say  nao  !  Yeh  won't  git  another  sich 
a  chance — to  live  like  a  lady,  'n'  hev  ev'rything 
yeh  want.  'N'  ef  yeh  dew  say  nao,  yeh  kin  rest 
'  sured  yeh  ain't  heerd  th'  last  of  it,  ner  him  nuther." 
Milton's  little  green-gray  eyes  watched  her  face  in- 
tently, and  he  fingered  his  flaring  plated  watch-chain 
with  nervous  preoccupation.  "What  d'yeh  say, 
yes'  r  nao  ?" 

"  I  can't  say  anything  more  than  I  have  said — 
now"  she  answered,  and,  stepping  over  the  stile, 
left  him. 

For  a  long  time  afterward  Annie's  conscience  de- 
bated the  justification  of  that  final  word,  the  last 
one  she  ever  addressed  to  Milton,  and  which  was 


368  Seth's  Brother's   Wife. 

obviously  intended  to  keep  alive  a  hope  that  she 
knew  to  be  absurdly  without  ground  or  reason. 
Sometimes  even  now  she  has  momentary  doubts 
about  it — but  she  silences  cavil  by  whispering  to 
herself  in  unanswerable  defence :  "  I  thought  then 
that  possibly  it  might  be  needed  to  help  Seth — per- 
haps even  to  save  him." 

She  had  little  leisure  just  then,  however,  to  de- 
vote to  moral  introspection,  for  Samantha  met  her, 
half-way  down  the  thorn-walk,  to  excitedly  tell  her 
that  her  grandmother,  Mrs.  Warren,  was  very  much 
worse  than  usual. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"A   WICKED   WOMAN!" 

WHEN  Isabel  looked  into  her  mirror  next  morn- 
ing, the  image  shown  back  fairly  startled  her.  Day 
by  day  during  this  eventful  week  the  glass  had 
helped  her  to  grow  familiar  with  reddened  eyes, 
with  harsh,  ageing  lines,  and  with  a  pallor  which  no 
devices  of  the  toilet  could  efface.  It  was  not  so 
much  an  added  accentuation  of  these  which  riveted 
her  gaze,  now,  upon  the  mirror,  as  the  suggestion  of 
a  new  face — of  a  stranger's  countenance,  reflecting 
meanings  and  thoughts  of  the  uncommon  kind. 

She  studied  the  face  at  first  with  an  almost  im- 
personal interest ;  then  as  the  brain  associated  these 
lineaments  with  her  own,  and  made  their  expression 
a  part  of  her  own  spiritual  state,  she  said  to  this 
other  self  in  the  glass,  audibly  : 

"Another  week  of  this  will  make  you  an  old 
woman."  She  added,  after  a  pause  of  fascinated  yet 
critical  scrutiny:  "Yes,  and  a  wicked  woman,  too!" 

There  has  been  what  one  can  only  hope  is  an 
intelligible  reluctance,  from  the  beginning  of  this 
recital,  to  essay  analysis  or  portrayal  of  Isabel's 
thoughts  and  motives.  A  complex,  contradictory » 
character  like  hers,  striving  now  to  assimilate,  now 
to  sway  the  simple,  straightforward,  one-stringed 
24 


370  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

natures  with  which  it  is  environed,  may  be  illus- 
trated; it  is  too  great  a  task  to  dissect  it.  Yet  for 
the  once  we  may  venture  to  look  into  this  troubled 
mind. 

A  wicked  woman  !  The  phrase  which  she  had 
addressed  aloud  to  the  mocking  image  in  the  glass, 
in  mingled  doubt  and  irony,  clung  to  her  medita- 
tions. Had  she  ever  meant  to  be  wicked — ever  de- 
liberately, or  even  consciously,  chosen  evil  instead 
of  good  ?  No  !  There  was  no  dubious  reservation 
in  her  answer.  Yet  within  the  week — oh,  the  hor- 
rible week ! — she  had  come  to  occupy  a  moral  posi 
tion  for  which  hell  could  not  hold  too  relentless  or 
fierce  a  punishment.  She  had  hugged  to  her  heart 
thoughts  which,  when  they  are  linked  with  acts,  go 
to  expiation  on  the  gallows.  She  shuddered  now 
at  the  recollection  of  them;  she  could  recall  that  she 
had  shuddered  then,  too.  Yet  all  the  same  these 
thoughts  were  a  part  of  her — belonged  to  her.  She 
had  not  repelled  them  as  alien,  or  as  unwelcome. 
Even  while  in  terror  at  their  mien,  she  had  em- 
braced them.  Was  this  not  all  wickedness  ? 

The  reply  came,  in  sophistical  self-defense,  that 
no  one  act  or  emotion  of  a  life  could  be  judged  by 
itself.  The  antecedent  circumstances,  leading  up 
to  it,  must  be  taken  into  account.  She  had  been 
borne  along  on  the  current  of  a  career  shaped  for 
her  by  others.  She  was  not  responsible — she  had 
never  fought  with  her  destiny — she  had  done  noth- 
ing but  seek  to  bring  some  flowers  and  light  and 
color  into  the  desolate  voyage  of  life.  Was  it  fair 


" A    Wicked  Woman!"  371 

to  say  that  these  little  innocent,  womanish  efforts 
to  soften  a  sterile  existence  were  the  cause  of  the 
shipwreck— that  it  was  these  which  had  brought 
her  so  suddenly,  dazed  and  terrified,  into  the  very 
breakers  on  the  sinister  rocks  of  crime  ?  No,  the 
answer  came  again ;  surely  it  could  not  be  fair. 

Yet  she  had  hated  her  husband ;  she  had  been 
overjoyed,  even  while  she  was  affrighted,  by  the 
news  of  his  death — or  at  least  there  was  a  tremulous 
sensation  very  like  joy  ;  she  had  hailed  as  her  deliv- 
erer the  young  man  whom  her  wild  fancy  made  re- 
sponsible for  that  death— yes,  had  even  in  her  frenzy 
kissed  his  hand,  the  hand  which  she  then  believed 
to  have  blood  upon  it,  his  brother's  blood  !  her  hus- 
band's blood !  Were  not  these  the  thoughts  and 
actions  of  a  wicked  woman  ?  What  difference  was 
there  between  her  and  the  vilest  murderess  confined 
for  life  in  a  penitentiary? 

Or  no  !  What  nonsense  this  was  !  What  single 
thing  had  she  said  or  done  to  bring  on  the  catas- 
trophe ?  It  was  an  accident — everybody  knew  that 
now.  But  even  if  it  had  not  been  an  accident,  how 
would  she  have  been  to  blame  ?  Was  it  her  fault 
that  she  was  pleasing  in  men's  eyes,  or  that  Seth 
had  been  attracted  by  her,  and  had  been  sympa- 
thetic to  her  ?  How  could  she  have  helped  it  ?  Was 
there  any  .reason  why  she  should  have  tried  to  help 
it  ?  Was  it  wrong  for  her,  exiled  as  she  was  to  this 
miserable  farm  life,  to  make  a  friend  of  her  cousin — 
her  husband's  brother  ?  And  if  they  had  grown  to 
be  attached  to  each  other,  could  it  be  wondered  at  ? 


372  Set  Its  Brothers   Wife. 

And  it  had  all  been  so  innocent,  too !  What  single 
compromising  word,  even,  had  ever  been  spoken  ! 
Might  not  the  most  blameless  of  women  have  had 
W  just  such  a  pretty  little  romantic  friendship,  without 
dream  of  harm  ? 

As  for  the  frantic  things  she  had  thought  and  said 
on  that  awful  forenoon  after  the  discovery,  she 
strove  to  put  them  away  from  her  memory,  as  born 
of  a  hysterical,  wholly  irresponsible  state. 

But  they  would  come  back,  no  matter  how  often 
banished. 

Then,  too — perhaps  worst  of  all,  for  honest  John 
seemed  to  lay  particular  stress  upon  it — was  the 
terrible  declaration  she  had  made  to  Annie.  About 
«  this  there  could  be  no  self-deception.  She  would  not 
pretend  to  herself  that  this  had  been  done  through 
any  but  revengeful,'  spiteful  motives — pure  cruelty, 
in  fact.  But  was  she  to  be  thus  coolly  pushed  aside, 
her  romance  shattered,  her  dear  day-dream  dissi- 
pated— and  not  to  be  justified  in  striking  back  ? 
This  conceited  boy — she  was  able  thus  to  think  of 
Seth  now,  in  his  absence,  and  in  the  light  of  the  af- 
front she  felt  he  had  put  upon  her — and  this  country 
school-teacher,  to  come  billing  and  cooing  in  the 
very  hour  of  her  supreme  excitement — did  they  not 
deserve  just  what  they  had  received?  After  all, 
her  words  had  done  no  permanent  harm.  .  Doubtless 
by  this  time  they  had  all  been  cleared  up.  And  if 
Miss  Annie  did  suffer  a  little,  what  better  was  she 
than  other  people,  to  be  free  all  her  life  from  heart- 
aches ? 


"A    Wicked   Woman!"  373 

But  then  came  a  mental  picture  of  Annie's  calm, 
sweet,  lightful  face  transfixed  with  speechless  hor- 
ror at  the  brutal  words — and  after  it,  close  and 
searching,  the  question :  "  Why  should  I  have 
stabbed  Annie  ?  She  was  always  kindness  itself  to 
me.  Was  it  not  heartless  to  make  that  poor  girl 
suffer?"  And  there  followed  in  her  mind,  as  an 
echo  of  her  first  exclamation  to  the  mirror — that 
had  gathered  reverberating  force  from  all  the 
thoughts  we  have  striven  to  trace — the  haunting 
cry  :  "  A  wicked  woman  !  " 

Afternoon  came,  and  the  battle  still  went  on. 
Bitter  condemnation  of  her  own  conduct  struggled 
with  angry  pleas  of  grievance  against  others,  and  the 
conflict  wearied  her  into  what  threatened  to  be  a 
sick  headache.  The  idea  of  getting  out  into  the 
open  air  and  seeking  relief  in  a  walk,  which  had 
been  dormantly  in  her  mind  all  day,  finally  took 
form,  and  led  her  outside  the  homestead  for  the  first 
time  since  her  husband's  death. 

Once  outside,  she  walked  aimlessly  through  the 
orchard — in  preference  to  the  high  road,  where  she 
might  meet  neighbors — toward  the  little  family 
graveyard.  It  was  not  until  she  had  nearly  reached 
this  spot  that  she  recalled  having  heard  that  Seth, 
too,  came  here  on  that  terrible  night.  The  recol- 
lection brought  an  added  sense  of  all  the  wrongs  she 
held  to  have  been  done  her.  She  stood  for  a  long 
time  by  the  old  board  fence,  with  its  coating  of  dry, 
mildew-like  moss  on  the  weather-beaten  surfaces 
turned  to  the  north,  and  its  inhospitable  hedging  of 


374  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

brown,  half-bare  briars,  and  looked  in  reverie  upon 
the  tombs  within  the  enclosure. 

Three  generations  of  the  Fairchilds  lay  here  under 
the  straggling  mat  of  withered  strawberry  vines. 
She  saw  the  low  blue-slate  slabs,  nearly  covered  now 
by  aspiring  weeds  and  brambles,  which  modestly 
pleaded  in  antique  letters  that  the  original  shoe- 
maker, Roger,  and  his  lowly  spouse  might  not  be 
altogether  forgotten.  Rising  ostentatiously  above 
these  timid,  ancient  memorials,  as  if  with  intent  to 
divert  attention  from  their  humility,  was  the  marble 
obelisk  marking  the  resting-place  of  the  family's 
greatest  man,  the  Hon.  Seth  Fairchild.  The  monu- 
ment was  not  so  white  or  so  imposing  now  as  it 
once  had  been,  and  the  proud  inscription  setting 
forth  how  its  subject  had  been  "  twice  Senator  of 
the  State  of  New  York,"  was  almost  illegible  from 
the  storm-stains  and  mould  on  its  venerable  front. 
There  were  some  other  stones,  gray  and  small,  tip- 
ping humbly  toward  the  central  monolith,  as  if 
mutely  begging  at  least  a  little  share  of  the  Senator's 
greatness  for  his  wife  and  sisters,  and  nearer  were  two 
plain  modern  slabs  recounting  the  sole  interesting 
facts  of  the  colorless  lives  of  Lemuel  and  Cicely  Fair- 
child — that  they  had  been  alive,  and  now  were  dead. 

Here  still  nearer  her,  almost  at  her  feet,  the  widow 
saw  some  pegs  driven  in  the  ground,  with  string 
stretched  around  them  to  form  a  long  rectangle. 
The  sight  brought  no  thrill  to  her.  She  was  con- 
scious of  all  its  meaning,  but  felt  herself  scarcely 
interested.  In  life  she  had  owed  nothing  but  dislike 


"A    Wicked  Woman!"  375 

to  the  man  whose  last  coming  these  signs  of  prep- 
aration betokened.  His  death  had  shocked  her  at 
first  by  its  fearful  suddenness ;  it  did  not  especially 
disturb  her  now,  save  at  times  with  a  furtive  elation 
at  the  accompanying  thought  that  at  last  she  was 
free.  Her  thoughts  were  with  the  living — and  their 
relation  to  those  long  since  dead. 

If  these  rambling  thoughts  could  have  been  sum- 
marized in  words  they  would  have  run  in  this 
fashion : 

"  What  has  all  your  family  pride  brought  you,  all 
your  planning  and  manoeuvring,  you  dull  country- 
men? /  wasn't  good  enough  for  you,  eh?  Your 
breed  must  conspire  against  me,  eh?  and  treat  me 
like  an  interloper,  an  outsider,  eh  ?  You  thought  I 
was  to  be  brought  here  too,  did  you,  when  my  time 
arrived,' and  be  snubbed  and  bullied  into  some  back 
corner  like  the  rest  of  your  wives,  while  my  husband, 
'  the  Congressman/  had  a  big  monument  like  this 
of  your  old  humbug,  the  Senator?  And  you  ex- 
pected to  patronize  me,  or  cut  me  dead,  as  the  liv- 
ing dolts  here  on  the  turnpike  have  done,  did  you  ? 
Well,  you  are  fooled !  I've  escaped  you  !  I  shall 
never  come  here  but  once  again — to  bring  you  your 
'Congressman.'  You  can  have  him  and  welcome. 
And  that  old  cat  of  an  aunt  of  his,  she  will  come 
presently,  too,  and  I  wish  you  much  joy  of  her  / 
And  perhaps  you  will  give  up  your  idea,  then,  that 
you  amount  to  anything,  or  ever  will  amount  to 
anything.  The  farm  is  going  to  a  young  man  who 
will  sell  it,  and  who  doesn't  care  a  cent  for  the  whole 


376  Set  Its  Brother's   Wife. 

crowd  of  you,  and  who  will  live  in  a  city,  and  eat 
with  his  fork,  and  forget  that  there  ever  were  such 
people  as  you.  And  he  will  forget,  too,  that — — " 

She  came  to  a  full  stop  in  her  meditations.  Yes, 
Seth  would  forget  her,  too.  She  had  no  illusions 
on  this  point.  Perhaps  this  was  too  kindly  a  view 
of  it,  even — he  might  be  compelled  to  remember  her 
by  sheer  force  of  his  bitterness  toward  her.  There 
could  be  no  doubt,  after  his  cruel  words  on  the 
eventful  forenoon — their  last  meeting — that  he 
scorned  and  despised  her.  What  an  idiot  she  had 
been  to  disclose  to  him  her  thoughts — those  mad 
fancies  and  beliefs  of  that  frantic  morning !  She 
might  have  known  that  the  idea  of  his  fighting 
his  brother,  on  her  account,  was  preposterous. 
What  did  he  care  about  her?  He  had  been  nice 
with  her,  had  written  her  pretty,  graceful  letters 
when  she  asked  him  to  do  so,  and  had  sent  her  books 
to  read — that  was  all.  There  was  nothing  else.  She 
had  been  a  fool  to  dream  that  there  was  anything 
else.  He  would  sell  the  farm,  and  go  back  to  Te- 

9  cumseh,  and  marry  Annie — yes,  marry  Annie  !  And 
they,  too,  would  refer  to  her  now  and  then,  and  com- 
ment on  her  wickedness,  and  hope  that  they  might 
never  have  a  daughter  like  her.  That  would  be  all. 
She  turned  from  the  little  enclosure  of  graves, 
without  giving  them  another  thought.  The  mental 
picture  which  she  conjured  up  of  the  young  couple, 
contented  by  a  fireside  of  their  own,  perhaps  with  a 
child,  tore  at  her  heart-strings. 

•        In  the  farm-yard  she  was  met  by   Mr.  Ansdell, 


"A    Wicked  Woman!"  377 

who  was  evidently  watching  for  her,  and  who  intro- 
duced himself  courteously. 

"  The  Coroner  is  here,"  he  said,  "  with  some  med- 
ical gentlemen,  and  there  are  also  your  late  hus- 
band's partner,  Mr.  Hubbard,  who  accompanied  me 
from  New  York  last  night,  and  the  District  Attor- 
ney and  some  others.  In  a  couple  of  hours  or  so 
we  expect  to  be  able  to  tell  you  what  brought  us. 
Meanwhile,  we  are  anxious  to  spare  you  any  pos- 
sible intrusion — and  also  a  possible  scene.  It  is  for 
this  that  I  have  waited  outside  for  you.  If  you 
could  prolong  your  walk  for  that  length  of  time, 
going  to  some  friend's  house  near  by,  for  instance, 
without  saying  that  anything  unusual  was  transpir- 
ing here " 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  she  answered.  "  Will  two  hours 
be  long  enough  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  said,  bowing  his  thanks. 

She  walked  out  through  the  great  swing-gate  to 
the  turnpike,  and  idly  chose  the  westward  turning, 
along  under  the  poplars.  The  curious  .incident  of 
all  these  visitors  at  the  house  did  not  excite  her  at- 
tention. Her  mind  was  too  busy  torturing  itself 
with  that  marriage  which  was  already  spoken  of  as 
assured. 

At  the  stile  by  the  thorns,  the  idea  of  going  to 
the  Warren  house  suddenly  occurred  to  her.  It  was 
a  bold,  purposeless,  almost  crazy  thought ;  perhaps 
for  those  very  reasons  it  commended  itself  to  her 
mood.  She  felt  herself  impelled  alike  by  good  and 
malignant  impulses  to  cross  the  stile ;  she  walked 


378  Set/i* s  Brothers   Wife. 

down  the  thorn  path,  scarcely  knowing  whether  her 
purpose  was  to  bless  or  to  curse. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Samantha,  whose  scared 
face  took  on  an  added  expression  of  anxiety  on  rec- 
ognizing the  visitor. 

"Go  into  the  parlor,  'n'  I'll  light  the  stove  fer 
yeh,"  she  whispered.  "Th'  old  lady's  very  laow. 
Soon's  she  comes  hum  from  schewl  I'll  send  Annie 
in  to  see  yeh." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE    SHERIFF    ASSISTS. 

WHILE  Isabel  sat  over  the  stove  in  the  cold, 
austere  parlor  of  the  Warren  house,  with  its  an- 
cient furniture,  the  never  failing  photograph  album, 
and  those  huge  pink  shells  on  the  mantle-shelf  with- 
out which  no  rural  home  used  to  be  complete — 
waiting  for  she  scarcely  knew  what — strange  things 
were  going  forward  in  the  home  of  the  Fairchilds. 

On  the  forenoon  of  this  same  day,  Thursday, 
there  had  been  a  gathering  in  the  office  of  the 
Thessaly  Banner  of  Liberty.  It  was  the  publication 
day  of  the  paper,  but  for  once  it  went  to  press 
without  enlisting  even  the  most  careless  scrutiny,  let 
alone  the  solicitude,  of  its  editor-proprietor.  He 
had  more  serious  business  on  hand.  Closeted  with 
him  in  the  little  editorial  room,  whose  limited  space 
had  rarely  before  been  so  taxed,  were  Beekman, 
Ansdell,  the  District  Attorney,  the  Sheriff,  and  the 
younger  of  the  dead  man's  two  New  York  partners, 
a  shrewd,  silent,  long- faced  man.  Sethhad  desired  to 
be  of  the  party  but  his  brother  had  sent  him  off,  to 
return  after  dinner. 

These  men  gravely  discussed  some  subjects  with 
which  our  readers  are  familiar,  and  some  now  first 


380  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

brought  to  light.  John  had  a  letter  from  Annie, 
sent  by  hand  the  previous  evening,  detailing  the 
strange  things  Milton  had  said  to  her  about  the 
black  mare.  Ansdell  and  Mr.  Hubbard,  the  partner, 
recited  how  they  had  discovered  that  Albert  Fair- 
child,  on  the  preceding  Monday,  sold  $16,000  worth 
of  government  bonds,  and  the  abortive  effort  he 
made  to  so  arrange  the  transfer  that  it  would  not  be 
traced.  Beekman  recalled  how  the  black  mare  had 
balked  on  the  edge  of  the  gulf  the  day  after  the 
murder — for  they  all  thus  characterized  it  now. 
Later,  the  Coroner  came  in  by  appointment,  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  dreaded  District  Attorney  was 
meekness  itself.  He  even  heard  that  two  physicians 
were  to  go  out  with  the  party,  and  make  an  examina- 
tion, without  taking  offence. 

After  the  noon-day  dinner  the  gathering  was 
reinforced  by  the  two  doctors  and  by  Seth,  the 
latter  devoured  by  curiosity  and  vexed  at  being 
kept  so  long  in  the  dark.  Soon  after,  all  of  the 
party  save  the  Sheriff  made  their  way  to  the  Fair- 
child  house,  driving  by  twos  or  threes,  and  at  inter- 
vals, to  avoid  exciting  suspicion.  It  was  after  the 
arrival  of  the  last  division  that  Ansdell  met  Isabel, 
and  advised  her  to  stay  away  from  the  house  for  a 
time. 

The  two  surgeons  and  the  Coroner  went  silently 
into  the  parlor,  and  closed  the  door  behind  them. 
In  the  living-room  Ansdell,  Hubbard,  John,  and  the 
District  Attorney  took  chairs  around  the  stove, 
having  given  word  that  Milton,  who  was  off  on  the 


The  Sheriff  Assists.  381 

other  side  of  the  hill,  arranging  the  sale  of  some 
apples,  should  be  sent  in  to  them  when  he  arrived, 
which  could  not  be  very  long  now.  In  the  kitchen, 
opening  back  from  the  living-room  as  this  in  turn 
did  from  the  parlor,  Seth  and  Beekman  sat  with  the 
three  women  of  the  household. 

These  latter  had  been  told  that  something  was 
going  on,  or  rather  had  inferred  it  from  being  for- 
bidden to  leave  the  room,  and  were  agog  with 
puzzled  excitement.  They  had  no  clue,  save  a  vague 
understanding  that  important  personages  were  in  the 
front  portions  of  the  house,  but  Alvira  and  Melissa 
stole  unhappy  glances  toward  Seth,  in  uneasy  fear 
that  the  worst  suspicions  born  of  Samantha's  recital 
were  to  be  realized  in  fact.  Aunt  Sabrina,  sitting 
with  her  shawl  wrapped  about  her  gaunt  shoulders, 
and  with  her  feet  on  a  piece  of  wood  in  the  oven, 
did  not  know  of  this  story  which  gave  point  to  the 
other  women's  anxiety,  but  was  in  misery  between  a 
deep  yearning  to  learn  what  had  happened,  and  a 
pessimistic  conviction  that  it  must  be  another  addi- 
tion to  the  Fairchilds'  load  of  calamities. 

They  heard  Milton  drive  up  presently,  and  hail 
Dana  with  instructions  to  put  the  horse  out,  and  a 
query  concerning  the  several  strange  vehicles  under 
the  shed.  Then  he  came  into  the  kitchen,  stamping 
his  feet  with  the  cold,  and  walking  straight  to  the 
stove  to  warm  his  hands.  It  was  growing  dark  in 
the  low  room,  and  he  did  not  recognize  Beekman. 

Seth  delivered  his  errand,  saying  that  his  brother 
John  wished  to  see  Milton,  as  soon  as  he  returned, 


382  SetJis  Brothers   Wife. 

in  the  living-room.  The  hired  man  gave  the  speaker 
a  curious  glance,  and,  after  a  moment  or  two  of 
hand  warming,  went  in  to  learn  what  was  wanted. 

Almost  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  the 
Sheriff  entered  the  kitchen  from  the  outside,  and 
after  an  interrogative  glance  toward  Beekman,  which 
the  latter  answered  by  a  nod,  drew  up  a  chair 
leisurely  by  the  stove. 

"Who'd  a  thought  it  'd  a  turned  out  so  cold, 
'fore  the  moon  changed  ?."  he  asked  of  the  company 
collectively.  "  Hev  yeh  got  any  cider  abaout  handy  ? 
'N'  adaoughnut,  tew,  ef  yeh  don't  mine." 

While  Melissa  was  in  the  cellar,  the  Sheriff,  who 
was  a  Spartacus  man  and  a  stranger  to  both  Seth 
and  the  females,  asked  of  Beekman :  "  What  did 
yeh  agree  on  fer  a  sign  ?  " 

"  Th'  shakin'  of  th'  stove." 

Seth  had  been  annoyed  all  day  at  the  pains  taken 
by  John  to  keep  the  facts  of  the  enterprise  now  in 
hand  from  him,  and  he  displayed  so  much  of  this 
pique  in  the  glance  he  now  cast  from  the  Sheriff  to 
Beekman,  that  the  latter  felt  impelled  to  speak : 

"  P'raps  you  disremember  my  askin'  yeh  t'  other 
day  'baout  whether  yer  brother  had  much  money 
on  him  that  night.  Well,  we've  settled  thet  point. 
He  did  hev' — 'n'  'twas  a  considerable  sum  tew — 
'baout  sixteen  thaousan'  dollars." 

"  No !  "  Seth's  exclamation  was  of  incredulous 
surprise. 

"Yes,  sixteen  thaousan'.     We  knaow  it." 

"  Oh  !    I  remember  now,"  said  Seth,  searching  his 


The  Sheriff  Assists.  383 

impressions  of  the  night.  "  I  remember  that  when 
I  said  he  might  fail  to  be  nominated,  he  slapped  his 
breast  two  or  three  times  as  if  he  had  something  in 
the  pocket.  By  George !  I  wonder " 

"  Yeh  needn't  waste  no  more  time  wond'rin'. 
Thet  was  it !  'N'  d'yeh  knaow  what  he  was  goin'  to 
dew  with  thet  money?  No,  yeh  daon't !  He  was 
agoin'  to  buy  me !  I  wouldn't  say  this  afore  aout- 
siders;  I  dunnao's  I'd  say  it  to  yeou  ef  your  paper 
wa'n't  so  dum  fond  o'  pitchin'  into  me  fer  a  boss,  'n' 
a  machine  man  ez  yeh  call  it,  'n'  thet  kine  o'  thing. 
Yer  brother  hed  th'  same  idee  o'  me  thet  your 
paper  's  got.  He  was  wrong.  They  tell  me  ther 
air*  some  country  caounties  in  th'  State  where 
money  makes  th'  mare  gao.  But  Jay  ain't  one  of 
'em.  Yer  brother  wanted  to  git  into  Congress. 
Ther  was  nao  chance  fer  him  in  New  York  City. 
He  come  up  here  'n'  he  worked  things  pooty  fine, 
I'm  baoun'  to  say,  but  he  slipped  up  on  me.  Bribes 
may  dew  in  yer  big  cities,  but  they  won't  go 
daown  in  Jay.  I  don't  b'lieve  they's.ez  much  of  it 
done  anywhere  ez  folks  think,  nuther." 

"  But  this  money,  then,  was " 

"  Lemme  go  on  !  P'raps  this  d'never  be'n  faound 
aout,  ef  yer  brother  hadn't  made  mistake  number 
tew  in  pickin'  aout  the  wust  'n'  meanest  cuss  in  th' 
caounty  to  be  his  gao-between.  I  kin  tell  mean 
cusses  when  I  see  'em,  'n'  this  feller  he  had  was  jest 
the  dirtiest  scalawag  I  ever  did  see.  I  kin  stan'  a 
scoundrel  in  a  way  ef  he's  bright  abaout  it,  but  this 
was  a  reg'lar,  natchul  born  fool.  Somehaow  in  th1 


384  Settts  Brothers   Wife. 

kentry,  these  men  don't  seem  to  hev  no  sense.  Ef 
they're  goin'  to  rob  a  man,  or  set  his  barns  afire,  or 
kill  him,  they  dew  it  in  the  darnedest,  clumsiest 
saort  o'  way,  so  they're  sure  to  git  faound  aout  the 
minute  anybody  looks  an  inch  beyond  his  nose  into 
th'  thing.  It  makes  a  man  ashamed  to  be  a  kentry- 
man  to  see  th'  foolish  way  these  here  blockheads 
git  caught,  ev'ry  time." 

The  women  had  been  listening  intently  to  this 
monologue.  They  looked  at  one  another  now, 
with  the  light  of  a  strange  new  suspicion  in  their 
eyes. 

"  Who  is  this  man  ?  Who  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
Seth  asked  eagerly. 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  a  stove  being 
shaken  vigorously  came  from  the  living-room.  The 
Sheriff  rose  to  his  feet,  and  strode  toward  the  door 
of  this  room. 

"I'll  shaow  him  to  yeh  in  th'  jerk  of  a  lamb's 
tail,"  he  said. 

The  conversation  in  the  living-room,  after  Milton 
entered,  had  been  trivial  for  a  time,  then  all  at  once 
very  interesting.  He  had  been  disagreeably  sur- 
prised at  finding  three  men  with  John,  but  had 
taken  a  seat,  his  big  hands  hanging  awkwardly  over 
his  knees,  and  had  been  reassured  somewhat  by  the 
explanation  that  Mr.  Hubbard,  the  dead  man's  part- 
ner, was  anxious  to  hear  all  he  could  about  the  sad 
occurrence.  The  District  Attorney  he  did  not  know 
by  sight,  and  he  did  not  recognize  Ansdell,  who 


The  Sheriff  Assists.  385 

stood  looking  out  of  the  window,  softly  drumming 
on  the  panes. 

Milton  told  a  lot  of  details,  about  Albert's  re- 
turn, about  hitching  up  the  grays  for  him,  about 
how  the  news  was  received  at  the  Convention  and 
the  like,  all  recited  with  verbose  indirectness,  and  at 
great  length.  Once  he  stopped,  his  attention  being 
directed  to  a  slight  sound  in  the  parlor,  and  looked 
inquiry.  John  promptly  explained  that  it  was  the 
undertaker,  and  the  hired  man  went  on. 

At  last  the  District  Attorney,  who  had  hitherto 
been  silent,  asked  quietly  : 

"  You  went  back  to  the  stable — to  your  own 
room — after  Mr.  Fairchild  drove  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  'n'  went  to  bed." 

"  Did  you  hear  any  one  enter  the  stables  after- 
ward ?  " 

"  No,  nary  a  soul." 

"  There  is  a  black  mare  in  the  stables,  used  under 
the  saddle.  Was  she  taken  out  that  night  ?  " 

"  Not  thet  I  knaow  of.  '  Why  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  seems  to  be  a  pretty  positive  story 
that  she  was.  She  was  seen  on  the  road,  in  fact, 
late  that  night,  coming  from  the  ravine.  The  rider 
was  not  recognized,  but  the  mare  was.  How  do  you 
account  for  that  ?  " 

"  Tain't  none  o'  my  business  to  'caount  for  it." 
Milton  did  not  like  the  tendency  of  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  No,  I  know  that,  but  we  are  interested  in  find- 
ing out.  I  don't  think  you  know  me — I  am  the 
25 


386  Seth' s  Brothers   Wife. 

District  Attorney — and  I  shall  take  particular  pains 
to  find  out." 

A  gulf  suddenly  yawned  before  Milton's  feet, 
and  he  made  a  prompt,  bold  attempt  to  leap  it.  "  I 
didn't  like  to  say  nothin'  'baout  it,  bein'  as  it's  in  th' 
fam'ly" — he  cast  an  uneasy  glance  at  John  here — 
"  but  Seth  Fairchild  rides  th'  mare  a  good  deal.  I 
did  hear  somebody  saddlin'  th'  mare,  but  I  took  it 
fer  granted  it  was  him,  'n'  sao  I  didn't  git  up.  It  'd 
be  jes  like  him,  I  said  to  myself,  to  go  ridin'  in  th' 
moonshine.  He's  thet  sort  of  a  feller,  naow  ain't  he, 
John?" 

The  sound  of  his  own  voice  frightened  Milton  as 
he  went  on,  and  his  closing  appeal  to  the  brother 
for  corroboration  carried  the  nervous  accent  of  fear. 
John  did  not  answer,  but  rose  and  walked  over  to 
join  Ansdell  at  the  window. 

"  Of  caourse,"  Milton  began,  in  a  lower  voice,  to 
which  he  sought  to  give  a  confidential  tone,  "  I 
don't  wan'  to  say  nothin'  agin  Seth.  Of  caourse, 
he's  John's  brother,  'n' " 

The  words  were  cut  short  by  the  rolling  back  of 
one  of  the  parlor  doors,  and  the  entrance  of  the 
three  doctors.  The  Coroner,  who  came  last,  pulled 
the  door  shut  again.  The  older  of  the  other  two 
came  to  the  District  Attorney  and  said,  with  delib- 
erate distinctness  : 

"  We  are  both  prepared  to  swear  that  Mr.  Fair- 
child's  death  was  caused  by  a  gunshot  wound  in  the 
head." 

It  was  then  that  John  sprang  to  the  stove,  and 
shook  its  grate  vehemently. 


The  Sheriff  Assists.  387 

At  sight  of  the  Sheriff,  who  advanced  upon  him 
with  a  directness  which  left  no  ambiguity  as  to  his 
purpose,  Milton  rose  excitedly  from  his  chair,  cast  a 
swift  scared  glance  around  the  company,  and  then, 
while  the  handcuffs  were  being  snapped  upon  his 
wrists,  began  to  whimper. 

"  I  didn't  do  it !  It's  a  put-up  job !  It's  them 
brothers  o'  his  thet  allus  hankered  after  his  money, 
'n'  naow  they  got  it  they're  tryin*  to  put  the  thing 
on  me.  'N'  his  wife,  tew,  thet  stuck-up  city  gal, 
she " 

"  Come  naow,  yeou  better  shut  up,"  said  the  Sher- 
iff sententiously.  "  Th'  more  yeh  say  th'  wuss  it'll 
be  fer  yeh. 

Most  of  the  men  present  averted  their  gaze  dur- 
ing the  brief  period  of  alternate  threats  and  cring- 
ing, of  rough  curses  and  frenzied  fawning  on  the 
Sheriff,  the  District  Attorney,  and  even  the  Coroner, 
which  ensued  ;  but  Mr.  Hubbard  watched  it  all  care- 
fully with  evident  interest. 

"  That  is  a  very  curious  type  of  criminal,"  he  said, 
as  the  Sheriff  and  his  prisoner  left  the  room  ;  "  very 
curious  indeed  !  I  never  saw  a  murderer  before  who 
had  so  little  nerve,  and  funked  so  absolutely  when 
he  was  confronted  with  detection.  Why,  I've  seen 
men,  guilty  as  guilty  could  be,  who  would  deceive 
even  their  own  lawyers.  But  such  a  simpleton  as 
that — he's  not  worth  his  rope." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  a  city  man,"  explained 
the  District  Attorney.  "  You  don't  know  the  kind 
of  murderers  we  raise  here  in  the  country.  The 


388  SetRs  Brothers   Wife. 

chances  are  that  your  city  assassin  would  be  tortured 
by  remorse,  if  he  escaped  discovery,  and  that  he 
committed  the  deed  in  a  moment  of  passion.  But 
the  rural  murderer  (I  am  speaking  of  native  Ameri- 
cans, now)  plans  the  thing  in  cold  blood,  and  goes 
at  it  systematically,  with  nerves  like  steel.  He 
generally  even  mutilates  the  body,  or  does  some 
other  horrible  thing,  which  it  makes  everybody's 
blood  boil  to  think  of.  And  so  long  as  he  isn't 
found  out,  he  never  dreams  of  remorse.  He"  has  no 
more  moral  perspective  than  a  woodchuck.  But 
when  detection  does  come,  it  knocks  him  all  in  a 
heap.  He  blubbers,  and  tries  to  lay  it  on  somebody 
else,  and  altogether  acts  like  a  cur — just  as  this  fel- 
low 's  doing  now,  for  instance." 

A  hubbub  of  shrieks  and  sobs  rose  from  the 
kitchen  as  he  finished  this  sentence,  and  they  with 
one  accord  moved  toward  the  door. 

The  Sheriff,  with  an  eye  to  his  promise  to  the  two 
men  in  the  kitchen,  had  led  the  livid  and  slinking 
wretch  out  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  where  the 
dim  candles  had  now  been  lighted,  and,  forcing  him 
to  hold  up  his  hands  so  that  the  manacles  might  be 
fully  visible,  said  to  Seth : 

"Here  yeh  air!  I  said  I'd  shaow  him  to  yeh ! 
Here  is  the  whelp  thet  did  th'  mischief.  Look  at 
him!" 

There  was  a  second  of  dead  silence,  as  the  several 
listeners  took  in  the  significance  of  his  words,  and 
of  the  spectacle. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  an  inarticulate,  inde- 


The  Sheriff  Assists.  389 

scribable  cry  from  Aunt  Sabrina.  Then  came  with 
startling  swiftness  a  confusion  of  moving  bodies,  of 
screams,  and  the  rattling  of  the  handcuffs'  chain, which 
no  one  could  follow.  When  the  intervention  of  the 
Sheriff  and  Beekman  had  restored  quiet,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  the  old  lady,  with  an  agility  of  which 
none  could  have  supposed  her  capable,  had  snatched 
a  potato  knife  from  the  table,  and  made  a  savage 
attempt  to  wreak  the  family's  vengeance  upon  Mil- 
ton. She  had  not  succeeded  in  inflicting  any  in- 
jury, save  a  slight  cut  on  one  of  his  pinioned  hands, 
and  Seth  now  with  some  difficulty  persuaded  her  to 
leave  the  room. 

It  fell  to  Alvira's  lot  to  bind  up  the  bleeding  hand 
— for  Melissa,  undertaking  the  task,  was  too  nervous 
and  trembling  to  perform  it. 

A  little  dialogue,  in  hushed  whispers,  which  only 
imperfectly  reached  even  the  sentinel  Sheriff,  en- 
sued : 

"  Sao  this  is  what  yeh've  come  tew !  " 

"  It's  all  a  lie  !  " 

"Oh,  don't  tell  me!  Ef  you'd  be'n  contented 
with  yer  lot  in  life,  'n'  hadn't  tried  to  swell  yerself 
up  like  a  toad  in  a  puddle,  this  wouldn't  a  happen'd. 
But  nao,  yeh  poor  fewl,  yeh  must  set  yerself  up  to 
be  somebody  !  'N'  naow  where  air  yeh  ?  " 

Words  with  which  to  answer  rose  to  Milton's 
bloodless  lips,  but  he  could  not  give  them  utter- 
ance. He  could  not  even  look  at  her,  but  in  a  dazed 
way  stared  at  the  hand,  which  he  held  so  that  she 
could  wind  the  bandage  in  spite  of  the  gyves. 


390  '  Settis  Brothers   Wife. 

11 1  didn't  use  to  think  yeh  was  aout-'n-aout  bad," 
she  continued,  more  slowly  ;  "  they  was  a  time  when 
yeh  might  a  made  a  decent  man  o'  yerself — ef  yeh'd 
kep'  yer  word  to  me." 

This  time  he  did  not  make  an  effort  to  answer. 

The  task  of  sustaining  the  talk  alone  was  too  great 
for  her.  The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  blinded 
the  last  touches  to  the  bandage.  As  it  was  com- 
pleted, the  Sheriff  put  his  hand  roughly  on  the  pris- 
oner's shoulder.  The  meaning  of  this  movement 
spread  over  her  mind,  and  appalled  her.  With  a 
gesture  of  decision  she  stood  on  tiptoe,  lifted  her 
face  up  to  Milton's,  and  kissed  him.  Then,  as  he 
was  led  away,  she  turned  to  the  onlookers,  and  said 
defiantly,  between  incipient  sobs  : 

"  I  daon't  keer !  Ef  t'  was  th'  last  thing  I  ever 
done  in  my  life,  I'd  dew  it.  We  was — engaged — 
once't  on  a  time ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
AT  "M'TILDY'S"  BEDSIDE  AGAIN. 

"  Do  you  clip  over  and  tell  Annie,"  John  had  said 
to  Seth,  when  the  first  excitement  of  the  scene  had 
passed  off,  and  they  stood  at  the  kitchen  window, 
watching  the  Sheriff's  buggy  fade  off  in  the  dusk 
down  the  hill  toward  Thessaly  jail.  "  It's  the  thing 
for  you  to  do — the  quicker  the  better  ! " 

Annie  had  been  home  from  her  day's  task  some 
minutes,  and  sat  by  her  grandmother's  bedside.  The 
patient  was  in  a  semi-comatose  state,  breathing  with 
unnatural  heaviness,  and  Samantha  had  been  dis- 
patched with  all  haste  to  bring  a  doctor  from  Thes- 
saly. It  seemed  terribly  probable  that  Mrs.  War- 
ren's last  day  had  come. 

Yet  as  she  sat  by  the  curtained  recess,  holding  in 
her's  the  withered  hand  which  lay  inanimate  on  the 
high  edge  of  the  bed,  Annie  still  thought  very  little 
of  the  great  change  impending  over  her  home  ;  she 
had  faced  this  death  in  life  so  long  that  its  climax 
did  not  startle  her,  or  wear  the  garb  of  strangeness. 
Instead,  she  was  pondering  the  unaccountable,  un- 
welcome fact  with  which  Samantha  had  greeted  her 
on  her  return — that  Isabel  was  in  the  adjoining 
room,  and  had  asked  to  see  her. 


392  Settis  Brothers  Wife. 

What  could  it  mean  ?  What  could  Isabel's  pur- 
pose be  in  coming  ?  And  ought  she  to  sacrifice  her 
own  feelings  to  the  dictates  of  politeness,  and  go  in 
to  see  this  wicked,  cruel  woman  ?  Perhaps  she  had 
come  to  retract  and  apologize  for  the  fearful  words 
of  Tuesday.  Perhaps  her  intention  was  to  reiterate 
them,  or  worse,  to  recount  that  now  the  whole  world 
would  know  of  them— and  gloat  over  her  pain.  No, 
that  could  scarcely  be,  for  since  her  interview  with 
Milton  Annie  felt  satisfied  at  least  of  Seth's  inno- 
cence. But  still  something  new  might  have  been 
disclosed — Isabel  might  have  evil  tidings  of  some 
sort  with  which  to  overwhelm  her  afresh.  What 
should  she  do  ? 

The  parlor  door  was  ajar,  and  though  she  could 
not  see  her  visitor,  she  could  plainly  hear  the  snap- 
ping of  the  wood  fire  within,  which  Samantha  had 
kindled.  Isabel  must  be  perfectly  aware  of  her  re- 
turn, and  of  her  presence  in  this  sick  chamber. 
Every  minute  that  she  hesitated  would  only  aug- 
ment the  widow's  anger  at  being  thus  inhospitably 
neglected.  Even  if  she  had  relented,  and  had  come 
with  kindly  intent,  this  reception  might  alter  her 
impulses. 

She  rose  to  enter  the  parlor,  but  still  stood  irres- 
olute, holding  her  grandmother's  hand,  when  there 
came  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  front  hall — then 
of  a  hasty  knock  on  the  door  opening  from  the  hall 
into  this  room  in  which  she  was.  She  opened  the 
door,  and  before  her,  excited  and  jubilant,  stood  her 
cousin  Seth. 


At  "M'tildy's"  Bedside  Again.      393 

"  I've  come  to  tell  you  !  "  he  burst  out,  "  It's  all 
cleared  up.  There  was  a  murder.  Milton  did  it ! 
He's  just  been  arrested  !  I  tried  to  ring  your  bell, 
but  it  didn't  seem  to  work.  So  I  had  to  come  in ! 
And  now " 

He  opened  his  arms  with  an  unmistakable  gesture, 
and  they  closed  fondly  upon  an  overjoyed  maiden, 
who  sobbed  upon  his  breast  for  very  relief. 

When  she  found  breath  and  words,  it  was  to  say: 

"  Oh,  you  can't  guess  what  I  have  suffered  these 
last  two  days  ;  I  thought  I  should  never  live  through 
them  !  And  now  it  seems  as  if  I  should  go  wild 
with  joy — as  if  I  couldn't  keep  my  feet  down  on  the 
floor !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  my  darling.  But  we  shall  be 
all  the  happier  for  this  spell  of  wretchedness.  Dry 
your  eyes,  pet.  There  shall  be  no  more  thought  or 
talk  of  tears — much  less  of  dying." 

"  O  Seth  ! — I  forgot ! — my  grandmother  !  " 

She  lowered  her  voice,  and  told  him  her  fears. 

Hand  in  hand,  and  with  his  arm  about  her  shoul- 
der, they  moved  softly  to  the  bedside  of  the  dying 
woman.  The  noise  of  the  talking,  or  some  less  ap- 
parent influence,  had  aroused  her  from  her  lethargy. 
Her  pale  eyes  were  brilliant  still,  with  an  unearthly 
light,  it  seemed  to  the  awed  young  man,  and  she 
rested  their  gaze  fixedly  upon  the  couple. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  querulous  whisper. 

"  It  is  Seth,  Granny,"  the  girl  answered,  relapsing 
unconsciously  into  the  familiar  form  she  had  not  used 
since  childhood. 


394  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

The  aged  woman  restlessly  moved  her  head,  and 
her  eyes  snapped  with  impatience  at  her  inability 
to  raise  herself  from  the  pillow. 

"  I  won't  have  him  here  !  Tell  him  to  take  his 
arm  away.  What's  he  doin'  here,  anyway?  He 
desarted  yeh !  His  own  father  told  me  so!  Tell 
him  to  go  away !  I  hate  the  sight  of  the  hull 
breed  ! " 

"  But  he's  come  back  to  me,  Granny,"  the  girl 
pleaded,  while  Seth  shrank  backward  in  the  shadow 
of  the  curtain.  "  Truly  he  has,  and  he's  not  to 
blame.  And  I  love  him  very  dearly  " — a  pressure 
from  the  young  man's  hand  answered  the  sweetness 
of  this  avowal — "  and  he  will  be  all  I  shall  have  left 
when — when —  "  she  stopped,  unwilling  to  conclude 
her  thought  in  words. 

"  An'  will  he  take  yeh  away,  an'  do  by  yeh  ez 
a  husban'  ought  to  do,  or  will  he  take  yeh  onto  that 
Fairchild  farm,  an'  break  yer  heart  out  ez  his  father 
did  his  mother's,  an'  ez  his  uncle  did  yer  mother's, 
an'  ez  his  brother,  so  they  tell  me,  is  doin'  with  his 
wife  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  "  the  girl  exclaimed,  involuntarily  ; 
then  she  whispered  to  Seth,  back  of  the  curtains : 
"  What  shall  I  do  !  I  forgot  all  about  it— Isabel  is 
there  in  the  parlor  and  she  has  heard  every  word 
we've  said." 

The  quick  ears  of  the  invalid  caught  the  whispered 
explanation. 

"  Isabel  !  "  she  said,  sharply.  "  That's  Albert 
Fairchild's  v/ife  ain't  it  ?  " 


At  "  M'tildys"  Bedside  Again.       395 

"  Yes  !  "  the  girl  answered.  She  tried  in  dumb 
show  to  convey  to  Seth  that  her  grandmother  was 
ignorant  of  his  brother's  death. 

"  Go  an'  fetch  her  in  here,"  said  Mrs.  Warren, 
with  more  animation  in  her  voice  than  it  had  shown 
before.  "  I  want  to  see  her — to  talk  with  her." 

"  But,  Granny,  you  ought 'nt  to  see  strangers;  you 
know,  the  doctor " 

"  I  guess  she  ain't  much  more  of  a  stranger  than 
this  young  man  you've  got  here.  Go  an'  fetch  her, 
I  say  !  I  won't  hurt  her,  an'  she  won't  hurt  me." 

There  was  nothing  for  Annie  to  do,  but  go  into 
the  parlor,  and  bow  shamefacedly  to  Isabel,  and  say, 
with  embarrassment  in  every  syllable  :  "  Excuse  me 
for  not  coming  before,  but  I  think  my  grandmother 
is  dying.  She  wants  very  much  to  see  you.  Won't 
you  come,  please  ?  " 

Isabel  had  risen  to  her  feet  upon  Annie's  entrance. 
To  the  latter's  surprise  and  increased  confusion  she 
held  forth  her  hand  with  a  friendly  gesture.  "  Yes, 
I  will  come  with  you,"  she  said,  as  Annie  doubt- 
ingly  took  the  proffered  hand,  and  the  two  women 
entered  the  sick-room. 

Isabel  did  not  seem  to  see  Seth,  who  stood  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  among  the  drawn  curtains,  but 
walked  to  the  bedside  and  said  softly :  "  I  am 
Isabel,  Mrs.  Warren ;  I  am  sorry  that  our  first  meet- 
ing should  find  you  so  low." 

"  So  you're  Albert's  wife,  eh  ?  "  The  old  woman 
eyed  her  keenly,  for  what  seemed  a  long  time. 
"  I've  heered  tell  o'  you.  Would  you  mind  gettin' 


396  Settts  Brother's    Wife. 

that  candle  there,  on  the  mantle-piece,  an'  holdin'  it, 
so't  I  kin  see  yer  face  ?  " 

Isabel  gravely  complied  with  the  request,  and 
stood  before  the  invalid  again,  with  the  yellow  light 
glowing  upon  her  throat  and  lower  chin  and  nostrils 
and  full,  Madonna-like  brows.  Her  face  was  at  its 
best  with  this  illumination  from  below.  She  would 
have  been  a  rare  beauty  close  before  the  footlights. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Warren,  after  a  long  inspection, 
"  P'raps  it'll  sound  ridiculous  to  yeh,  but  yeh  don't 
look  unlike  what  I  did  when  I  was  your  age.  The 
farm  ain't  had  time  to  tell  on  yeh  yit.  But  it  will  i 
It  made  me  the  skeercrow  that  you  see ;  it'll  do  the 
same  for  you.  When  I  was  a  girl,  I  was  a  Thayer, 
the  best  fam'ly  in  Norton,  Massachusetts.  We  held 
our  heads  high,  I  kin  tell  yeh.  Why,  when  I 
brought  my  side-saddle  here,  stitched  with  silk, 
'twas  the  fust  one  they'd  ever  seen  in  these  parts. 
But  I  married  beneath  me,  an'  I  come  up  here  into 
York  State  to  live,  on  this  very  farm.  With  us, 
farmin'  don't  mean  a  livin'  death.  P'raps  we  don't 
hev  sech  fine  big  barns  ez  yeh  build  here,  but  our 
houses  are  better.  We  don't  git  such  good  crops, 
but  we  pay  more  heed  to  education  and  godly  livin'. 
It's  th'  diff'rence  'twixt  folks  who  b'lieve  there's 
somethin'  else  in  life  b'sides  eatin'  an'  drinkin'  an' 
makin'  money,  an'  folks  that  don't.  Well,  I  left  a 
good  home,  an'  I  come  here,  an'  here  I  am.  Look 
at  me  !  Look  at  Lemuel  Fairchild's  wife,  Cicely — 
she  was  a  relation  of  yours,  wasn't  she  ? — see  how 
the  farm  made  an  ole  woman  o'  her,  an'  broke  her 


At  "M'tildys"  Bedside  Again.       397 

down,  an'  killed  her!  You're  young,  an'  you're 
good  lookin'  yit,  but  it'll  break  yeh,  sure's  yer  born. 
Husban's  on  these  farms  ain't  what  they  air  in  the 
cities,  nor  even  in  the  country  in  New  England. 
I'm  told  your  husban'  don't  treat  you  right." 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  about  that — please !  "  said 
Isabel :  she  stole  a  swift,  momentary  glance  toward 
Seth  as  she  spoke. 

The  keen  eyes  in  the  recess  followed  this  look. 
"  Well,  no,"  the  husky,  whispering  voice  went  on, 
"  p'raps  it  ain't  none  o'  my  business.  But  tell  me 
about  this  young  man  here — yer  husband's  brother. 
I  want  to  know  about  him." 

"What  about  him?"  asked  Isabel  slowly,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Why,  is  he  a  likely  man  ?  Air  his  habits  good  ? 
Could  he  take  this  girl  o'  mine — an'  she's  a  good 
girl,  Annie  is — could  he  take  her  to  Tecumsy,  an' 
make  a  fit  home  fer  her  ?  An'  would  he  do  it  ? 
Would  he  make  her  a  good  husban' — ez  good  ez  she 
desarves  ?  I  ask  you,  'cause  you  know  him.  I  leave 
it  to  you — would  you  yerself  marry  him  ef  yeh  was 
free,  an'  feel  safe  about  him  ?  Come,  now,  tell  me 
that ! " 

Isabel  hesitated  so  long  that  the  old  woman,  seem- 
ingly wandering  a  little  after  her  long,  laborious 
concentration  of  thought,  broke  in  again  : 

"  Oh,  I  know  'em  !  I  know  'em  !  Of  all  the  Fair- 
childses,  there  never  was  one  decent  one.  They 
stole  my  daughter,  an'  let  her  die  'mongst  strangers, 
an'  they  made  a  broken  ole  woman  o'  me,  an'  they 


398  Seth's  Brothers   Wife. 

slaved  Cicely's  life  out  o'  her,  an'  now  they  want 
my  Annie " 

"  No,"  said  Isabel  here,  speaking  softly,  and  put- 
ting her  hand  on  the  wasted  arm  which  lay  above 
the  coverlet.  "  I  think  you  wrong  Seth.  Whatever 
the  rest  may  have  done,  I  think  he  will  be  a  good 
husband  to  Annie.  I  am  sure  he  will." 

No  answer,  save  a  low,  incoherent  murmuring, 
came  from  the  recess.  The  invalid  had  lapsed  into 
the  lethargy  of  exhausted  nature.  As  the  trio  stood 
by  the  bedside  even  this  sound  ceased.  Nothing 
was  to  be  heard  but  the  labored,  unnatural  breath- 
ing. 

Isabel  placed  the  candle  again  upon  the  shelf. 
She  had  not  removed  her  bonnet  and  wrap,  and  she 
turned  now  irresolutely  toward  the  door. 

Annie  went  to  her,  and  silently  took  her  hand. 
"  I  forgive  you,"  she  whispered.  "Was  there  any- 
thing else  ?  Did  you  want  to  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  wanted  when  I  came.  Let 
me  go  now.  Perhaps  if  I  said  any  more,  I  should 
hate  myself  afterward." 

And  thus,  without  a  glance  at  Seth,  she  went. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

"  SUCH   WOMEN  ARE  !  " 

THE  story,  such  as  it  is,  is  told. 

Before  the  daily  press  of  the  State,  which  had 
given  great  attention  to  the  tragedy  in  Dearborn 
County,  became  fairly  aware  that  a  mystery  at- 
tached to  it,  the  wretched  Milton  had  confessed  his 
crime.  He  had  followed,  and  come  up  with  his 
employer,  who  stopped  at  his  call.  There  was  a 
conversation — then  the  killing.  The  prisoner  made 
a  weak  effort  to  pretend  that  there  was  a  quarrel 
first,  and  that  his  deed  was  in  self-defence,  but  he 
deceived  no  one.  He  had  with  much  difficulty  led 
the  grays  off  the  side  of  the  ravine,  the  murdered 
man  being  first  thrown  over,  and  the  horses  and 
buggy  purposely  hurled  down  upon  him.  There 
was  some  angry  criticism  when  it  became  known 
that  the  District  Attorney  had  agreed  to  accept  a 
plea  of  murder  in  the  second  degree,  and  the  popu- 
lar explanation — that  it  was  done  from  motives  of 
consideration  for  the  family — provoked  not  a  few 
jibes  from  people  who  wanted  to  know  why  the 
Fairchilds  were  any  better  than  other  folk.  But  the 
course  of  the  law  was  not  affected  by  this  comment, 
nor  did  the  District  Attorney  suffer  appreciably 
from  it  when  he  came  up  the  succeeding  autumn 


400  Settis  Brothers    Wife. 

for  re-election.  The  money  was  all  recovered — and, 
if  you  have  the  influence  requisite  to  obtain  a  visit- 
ing pass  to  New  York's  forest-girt  prison  on  the 
Eastern  watershed  of  the  Adirondacks — that  terrible 
subterranean  place  of  woe  from  which  even  Sibe- 
rian gaolers  might  get  some  hints  of  new  things  in 
anguish — you  may  still  see  a  thin,  bent,  evil-faced 
wretch  dragging  out  existence  in  the  mines,  who 
once  was  reckoned  a  likely  man  in  Dearborn  County, 
and  who  cast  its  united  vote  at  the  most  famous  of 
all  Tyre's  Conventions. 

The  funeral  of  Albert  Fairchild  will  long  be  re- 
membered in  all  the  section  round.  More  than  one 
State  official  attended,  and  there  was  a  vast  con- 
course of  lesser  political  lights,  who  kept  a  shrewd 
eye  upon  opportunities  for  profitable  discourse  with 
each  other,  before  and  after  the  services,  while  they 
put  themslves  dignifiedly  in  evidence  before  the 
public  by  getting  their  names  in  the  local  papers. 

There  were  no  surprises  to  the  inner  circle  of  the 
family  when  the  will  came  to  be  read.  Subject  to 
the  widow's  third,  the  farm  was  devised  in  equal 
parts  to  the  two  brothers,  but  the  major  share  of 
the  other  property  went  to  Seth.  The  partner  from 
New  York  remained  at  the  homestead  long  enough 
to  arrange  the  details  by  which  the  widow's  portion 
was  bought  by  the  brothers,  and  her  leave-taking 
accomplished. 

John  Fairchild  lives  in  high  contentment  on  the 
ancestral  farm.  He  grows  stout  now,  in  the 
accustomed  Fairchild  fashion,  and  though  his  light 


"Such    Women  Are!"  401 

ruddy  face  and  brown  beard  are  hostile  to  the  sug- 
gestion, people  profess  to  see  the  family  likeness 
in  him  as  he  grows  older.  Aunt  Sabrina  espe- 
cially cherishes  this  fancy  with  fondness.  She 
has  come  to  regard  this  nephew,  whom  once 
she  so  deeply  disliked,  with  some  affection  and 
vast  esteem,  and  she  devotes  her  hours  to  dream- 
ing of  the  great  things  he  may  accomplish  as 
the  Fairchild  of  Dearborn — what  time  she  is  not 
joining  Alvira  in  prayer  that  he  may  not  be  moved 
to  marry  a  city  woman.  Thus  far  there  are  no  indi- 
cations that  he  thinks  of  marrying  any  one,  and  his 
ambitions  seem  to  take  no  higher  form  than  the  re- 
invigoration  of  the  Banner  of  Liberty,  which  he 
drives  over  to  Thessaly  three  times  a  week  to  super- 
intend, and  which,  they  say,  promises  soon  to  blos- 
som into  a  daily. 

One  closing  scene  we  may  glance  at — a  pretty 
room,  with  modern  furniture,  and  wide,  flower-clad 
windows  looking  upon  one  of  the  best  of  Tecum- 
seh's  residential  streets.  Annie,  grown  brighter- 
faced  and  yet  no  older  in  looks,  despite  the  nearly  four 
years  of  married  life  which  have  gone  by,  stands 
at  the  window  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  laughs 
as  she  tosses  the  infant  forward  toward  the  panes,  in 
greeting  to  the  paternal  parent,  who  is  coming  up 
the  front  steps.  The  wife  is  in  gay  spirits,  not  only 
because  the  head  of  the  house  has  come  home  to  din- 
ner instead  of  stopping  at  the  Club,  but  for  another 
reason,  compared  with  which  all  dinners  were  trivial. 
26 


402  SetKs  Brother's   Wife. 

"  O  Seth,  her  first  tooth  has  come  through  !" 

"That  so?     It's  about  time,  I  should- think." 

His  reception  of  the  great  tidings  is  so  calm,  not 
to  say  indifferent,  that  the  beaming  wife  looks  at 
him  in  mock  surprise.  Seth  has  not  aged  specially 
either,  but  he  wears  this  evening  an  unwontedly 
serious  expression  of  face,  and  gets  into  his  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers  with  an  almost  moody  air. 

Baby  is  brought  up  in  frowning,  blinking  prox- 
imity to  her  sire  and  made  by  proxy  to  demand  an 
explanation  of  this  untoward  gloom,  on  an  occasion 
which  ought  to  be  given  over  to  rejoicing. 

"Oh,  I'm  tired,"  Seth  answers;  "  and  then — then 
I  have  a  letter  which  puzzles  and  annoys  me  a 
little." 

"  Is  it  anything  that  I  know  about?"  Annie  has 
seated  herself  beside  him  now,  and  looks  sweet 
inquiry. 

"  Well,  yes.  It  is  a  letter  from  Dent — you  know 
I've  let  him  go  down  to  Washington  to  get  an  idea 
of  the  place  and  the  men  while  the  session  is  on — 
and  along  with  a  letter  to  the  paper,  pretty  good 
stuff,  too,  he  sends  me  this  personal  note.  Read  it 
for  yourself." 

Annie  took  the  letter,  and  reads  steadily  along 
through  its  neat  chirography: 

"  WASHINGTON,  March  jth. 
"DEAR  FAIRCHILD: 

"  I  send  a  letter  going  into  the  Silver  question 
from  the  standpoint  of  some  of  the  Western  men 
I  have  talked  with.  They  impress  me  as  being  more 


"Such   Women  Are!"  403 

sincere  than  sensible  on  the  subject.  I  think  the 
trip  will  be  of  vast  service  to  me — and  also,  I  trust, 
to  the  paper. 

"  Last  evening,  I  met  for  the  second  time  since 
I  have  been  here,  an  elderly  gentleman  from  your 
part  of  the  State,  named  Beekman.  Like  myself, 
he  is  down  here  to  look  around,  and  get  an  idea  of 
things.  It  is  the  first  time,  I  should  judge,  that  he 
has  been  so  far  away  from  home,  and  his  comments 
are  extremely  droll — often  very  clever,  too.  He 
seems  to  know  you  very  well,  and  asked  me  to  re- 
member him  kindly  to  you,  and  express  his  con- 
gratulations upon  your  purchase  of  a  controlling 
interest  in  the  paper.  He  wanted  me  to  be  sure 
and  say  to  you  that  while  the  experiment  of  elect- 
ing Ansdell  had  worked  very  well — he  seems  to  ad- 
mire Ansdell  greatly — you  mustn't  allow  that  to 
lead  you  into  the  habit  of  thinking  that  all  bolters 
are  saints  and  all  straight-party  men  devils.  It 
seems  that  since  he  has  been  here  he  has  encoun- 
tered some  foolish  and  exceptional  Southern  Con- 
gressman who  provoked  him  by  saying  '  Your  Gov- 
ernment' and  ' your  laws'  instead  of  using  the  pro- 
noun 'our*  and  that  has  made  him  a  great  Stalwart 
again — for  the  time-being. 

Annie  looked  up  from  the  sheet.  "I  must  say 
I  don't  see  anything  in  all  this  to  particularly  dis- 
turb anybody.  This  seems  just  the  harmless  sort 
of  letter  I  should  expect  your  innocuous  Mr.  Dent 
to  write." 

"  Read  the  rest  of  it,"  was  Seth's  reply. 

She  went  on  : — 

"  By  the  way,  I  met  your  sister-in-law  among  the 
guests  at  a  reception  the  other  evening,  to  which 
Mr.  Ansdell  kindly  secured  me  an  invitation.  Her 


404  SetKs  Brothers   Wife. 

residence  on  K  street — she  gave  me  the  number, 
which  I  have  somewhere — is  said  to  be  one  of  the 
most  charming  homes  in  Washington.  She  is  very 
popular  in  society  here,  and  I  am  told  that  you  meet 
her  at  every  fashionable  gathering.  She  was  cer- 
tainly very  pleasant  with  me,  when  Mr.  Ansdell  pre- 
sented me  and  explained  who  I  was.  She  especially 
asked  me  if  I  knew  what  you  had  named  your  baby- 
girl,  but  I  could  not  tell  her. 

"  /  could  tell  her  if  she  asked  me  !  "  remarked  the 
young  wife,  grimly.  "  The  very  idea !  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Seth — "  or  I  shall  feel  that  we  ought 
to  have  named  her  Proscrastinatia  instead  of  Annie ; 
get  to  the  end  of  the  thing." 

Annie  got  to  the  end  with  a  single  sentence : 

"  By  the  way,  it  may  interest  you — and  I  hope 
you  won't  be  annoyed  at  my  mentioning  it,  and  in- 
deed you  may  very  possibly  have  heard  it  already — 
to  learn  that  everybody  here  seems  to  understand 
that  Mr.  Ansdell  is  shortly  to  marry  your  sister-in- 
law,  and  he  himself,  speaking  to  me,  referred  to  her 
in  a  way  which  amounted  to  a  declaration  of  the 
fact." 

"  Well,  there  you  have  it !  "  said  Seth  slowly,  after 
a  long  pause  in  which  husband  and  wife  looked  at 
each  other.  "  That  is  news,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  Annie  spoke  deliberately, 
too,  turning  the  letter  over  with  a  meditative  air. 
"  I  should  think  so  !  " 

The  gravity  of  his  wife's  tone  seemed  to  Seth  to 
be  more  profound  than  the  circumstances  altogether 
demanded. 


"Suck   Women  Are!"  405 

"  I  don't  know  after  all,"  he  said,  in  half-apology 
for  his  own  earlier  confession  of  gloom,  "  but  that  it 
would  be  a  tolerable  match.  I  don't  say  that  they 
would  be  happy  in  the  sense  that  we  are  happy,  my 
girl ;  but  she  has  a  great  many  qualities  which 
would  make  her  a  helpful  wife  to  an  ambitious,  suc- 
cessful, masterful  sort  of  public  man  like  Ansdell. 
Come,  now,  let's  be  fair  to  her.  Dent  says  that  she 
is  very  popular  in  Washington." 

"Yes,"  replied  Annie  thoughtfully,  drawing  her 
daughter  closer  to  her  breast,  "she  always  will  be 
popular  with  people  who  are  not  married  to  her. 
Such  women  are  !  " 


THE  END. 


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CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
743  and  745  Broadway,  New  York 


"  Mr.  Stockton  has  written  a  book  which  you  can't  discuss  with- 
out laughing;  and  that  is  proof  enough  of  its  quality." 

— N.  Y.  TRIBUNE. 

THE  LATE  MRS.  NULL. 

By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


One    Volume.      12mo.      Cloth.      $1.25. 


"THE  LATE  MRS.  NULL"  is  one  of  those  fortunate  books  that 
goes  beyond  all  expectation.  Even  those  readers  whose  hopes 
have  been  raised  the  highest  have  before  them— especially  in  the 
fact  that  they  receive  the  story  complete  and  at  once,  without 
intermediate  serial  publication — such  an  enjoyment  as  they  hard- 
'.y  foresee. 

It  is  enough  to  say  of  the  scene  that  it  is  chiefly  in  Virginia, 
to  show  the  possibilities  of  local  character-drawing  open  to  Mr. 
Stockton  in  addition  to  his  other  types ;  and  to  say  that  every 
character  is  full  of  the  most  ingenious  and  delicious  originality 
is  altogether  needless.  In  an  increasing  scale,  the  situations  are 
still  more  complicated,  ingenious,  and  enjoyable  than  the  charac- 
ters ;  and  finally,  the  plot  is  absolutely  baffling  in  its  clever  in- 
tricacy yet  apparent  simplicity — a  true  device  of  Mr.  Stockton's 
tireless  fancy.  

"We  congratulate  the  novel  reader  upon  the  feast  there  is  in  'The  Late  Mrs. 
Null.'  "-Hartford  Post. 

"  We  can  assure  prospective  readers  that  their  only  regret  after  finishing  the  book 
will  be  that  never  again  can  they  hope  for  the  pleasure  of  reading  it  again  for  the 
first  time."—  The  Critic. 

"  Original,  bright,  and  full  of  the  author's  delicate  humor." — New  York  Journal 
of  Commerce. 

"  '  The  Late  Mrs.  Null'  is  delicious." — Boston  Journal. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  by  the  publishers, 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS, 

743  &  745  Broadway,  New-York. 


EDITION. 


By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


J3  Y      A.     B.     iF-ROST. 


On«  vat.,  12mo, 


$2.00. 


The  new  Rudder  Grange  has  not  been  illustrated  in  a  conventional 
•way.  Mr.  Fr  .st  has  given  us  a  series  of  interpretations  of  Mr. 
Stockton's  fan:  ies,  which  \\ill  delight  every  appreciative  reader, — 
sketches  scattered  through  the  text ;  larger  pictures  of 


the  many  great  and  memorable  events,  and  everywhere  quaint  orna- 
ments.    It  is,  on  the  whole,  one  of  the  best 
existing  specimens  of  the  complete  supple- 
menting   of  one    another   by  author  and 
artist.      The  book  is  luxurious  in  the  best      T=-^7 
sense  of  the  word,  admirable  in  typography, 
convenient  in  size,  and  bound  in  a  capital  cover  of  Mr.  Frost's  design. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  by  the  publishers, 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 

743   &*  745  Broadway,  New   York. 


A   NEW    BOOK  BY    ROBERT    LOUIS   STEVENSON. 

THE  MERRY  MEN, 

AND    OTHER   TALES   AND   FABLES. 
i  vol.,  izmo,  cloth,  411.00 ;  paper  (yellow  covers),  35  ctSc 

CONTENTS : 

THE  MERRY  MEN.  OLALLA. 

THRAWN  JANET.  MARKHEIM. 

•WILL  O'  THE  MILL.  THE  TREASURE  OP  FRANCHARD. 

"If  there  is  any  writer  of  the  time  about  whom  the  critics  of  England  and  America 
substantially  agree  it  is  Mr.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  There  is  something  in  his  work, 
precisely  what,  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  which  engages  and  fixes  the  attention  from  the 
first  page  to  the  last,  which  shapes  itself  before  the  mind's  eye  while  reading,  and 
which  refuses  to  be  forgotten  long  after  the  book  which  revealed  it  has  been  closed 
and  put  away.  There  is  a  power  of  a  grim  sort  on  every  page  of  this  curious  story 
('  The  Merry  Men  '),  and  with  this  power  a  strange  insight  into  the  darker  T/orkings 
of  the  human  heart,  and  there  is  a  vividness  about  everything  in  it  which  has  no 
parallel  anywhere  outside  of  'Wuthering  Heights.'" 

— RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD,  in   The  Mail  and  express. 


OTHER   BOOKS   BY  ROBERT   LOUIS  STEVENSON. 

STRANGE  CASE  OF  DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE 

i  vol.,  121110,  cloth,  $1.00 ;  paper  (yellow  covers),  *s  cts. 


KIDNAPPED. 

BEING  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  DAVID  BALFOUR  IN  THF.  YEAR  1751. 
x  vol.,  I2M10,  cloth,  $1.00 ;  paper  (yellow  covers),  50  cts. 

"Mr.  Stevenson  has  never  appeared  to  greater  advantage  than  in  'Kidnapped.' 
.  .  .  No  better  book  of  its  kind  than  these  '  Memoirs  of  the  Adventures  of  David 
Balfour '  has  ever  been  written." — The  Nation. 


A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES. 

I    VOl.,    121110,   SX.OO. 

"To  our  thinking,  Mr.  Stevenson  has  made  a  book  which  will  become  a  classic  in 
the  not  over-crowded  field  of  children's  poetry." — Brooklyn  Union. 

"  A  more  exquisite  and  dainty  art  than  Mr.  Stevenson's  has  not  come  to  the  ser- 
vice of  children  and  their  interpretation." — Springfield  Republican. 


*#*  These  books  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  -will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  publishers. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons'  Catalogue  of  their  Publications,  and  also  of  their 
Books  for  Young  People  mailed  to  any  address  on  application. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 
743  AND   745   BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


POPULAR  BOOKS  IN  PAPER 


(YR  1,1.0  W     COVKKS.) 


Frank  R.  Stockton 

George  W.  Cable 
Brander  Matthews 

Uobert  Grant 
Marion  Harland 
A.  A.  Hayes 
J.  T.  Wheelwright 
R.  It.  Stevenson 

Mrs.  F.  H.  Burnett 


Brander  Matthews 
H.  C.  Bunner 
G.  P.  Lathrop 


J.  S.  of  Dale 
Saxe-Holm  Stories 
Julia  Magruder 
Fitz-James  O'Brien 
Andrew  Lang 
Andrew  Carnegie 
W.  E.  Gladstone 
Capt.  Roland  Coffin 
Charles  Marvin 
Max  O'Rell 
Capt.  J.  G.  Bourke 


The  Christmas  "Wreck,  and  other  Stories.  .50 
The  Lady,  or  the  Tiger  3  and  other  Stories. 50 

Rudder  Grange M) 

Dr.  Sevier 50 

Old  Creole  Days.  In  two  parts;  each  complH  eSO 

A  Secret  of  the  Sea,  and  other  Stories.- 50 

The  Last  Meeting 50 

Face  to  Face 50 

Judith.     A  Chronicle  of  Old  Virginia 50 

The  Jesuit's  Ring.  A  Romance  of  Mt  Desert  50 

A  Child  of  the  Century 50 

Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.  .25 

Kidnapped 50 

The  Merry  Men,  and  other  Tales  and  Fabb  •* . .  :;:> 

That  Lass  O'Lowries 50 

Earlier  Stories  ;  Lindsey's  Luck 30 

Pretty  Polly  Pemberton 40 

Kathleen. 40 

Theo 30 

Miss  Crespigny 30 

In  Partnership:  Studies  in  Story-telling. .  .50 

An  Echo  of  Passion 50 

Newport ;  a  Novel oO 

In  the  Distance 50 

Guerndale  ;  an  Old  Story 50 

First  Series.  Second  Series.  Each  complete.  50 

Across  the  Chasm.     A  Novel 50 

The  Diamond  Lens,  and  other  Stories 50 

The  Mark  of  Cain .'ir> 

An  American  Four-in-Hand  in  Britain 25 

The  Irish  Question 10 

The  America's  Cup.     Illustrated 50 

The  Russians  at  the  Gates  of  Herat 50 

John  Bull  and  His  Island. 50 

An  Apache  Campaign  in  the  Sierra  Madre.50 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS, 

743  and  745  Broadway,  New  York, 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


FACULTY 


SEP 


LO-U8B 


.-*••>•       •  •  ' -  .  . ' 


Form  L9-Series  444 


